Last Place Runner

As promised, I weighed myself this morning. And I wasn’t happy. And I said, “I will be better today and weigh in on Monday.”

That was the first reality check I had today and I had been out of bed like two whole minutes.

Running, HIIT with a trainer and nearly a 10-pound weight gain in 6 months. It’s not one day of eating that brought those pounds back. I must’ve been really trying to gain that kind of weight.

So here it is. I have two digital scales (and an analog scale) in my house. Maybe something is wrong with me to be so fixed weighing myself. One scale measures half-pound increments and the other one, which I just bought a few weeks ago, measures in tenths. It also differs by up to three pounds in the wrong direction over what the other scale says, so I hate it. A lot. But it showed an even 209 pounds this morning. And my nicer scale showed 207. So clearly, either way, it’s a situation that could be better.

But, feeling defeated and flustered, I got in the shower to get ready to go to the grocery store. I was standing there in the warm water, thinking hateful thoughts, being mad, basically saying FUCKIT.

Next weekend I’m going out of town for my best friend’s grandmother’s 80th birthday party. Mawmaw is one of those people who doesn’t know she’s 80. She’s smart, liberal, sass-mouthed, funny, and she loves me like I’m one of her own. There’s no way I would miss her party, to which I was invited weeks and weeks ago with a fancy invitation. It was that invitation I was thinking of as I combed knots out of my wet hair in the shower this morning. “Cake and dancing!” I thought, “The invitation said cake and dancing.” Going to Mawmaw’s party meant that would not allow myself to have cake. And not allowing myself to have cake defeats the purpose of going to a party entirely.

I mean, if I catch myself denying that I have some kind of problematic relationship with food, please refer my ass straight back to this post.

Then I realized something. I’ve been to tons of parties, millions of weddings, thousands of baby showers. I remember bits and pieces about the good time I had. But I could not recall a single crumb of cake I had eaten at any of those events. I thought about my own wedding. And while I can verify that the cakes were beautiful, I can only tell you they were delicious because my husband’s sister made them for us. I don’t remember eating any, although I have seen photographs to prove that we did feed each other a bite of each cake. But did I have more? I don’t know. That’s not what I remember about that day. And still I look back on our wedding with such sweet fondness, such tender happiness. I think of our wedding cakes as a display of love from my sister-in-law (a kick-ass baker) and never as sinful calories that were the only reason I showed up for the wedding.

To deprive myself of celebrating with Mawmaw next weekend because it will fall in one 10-day period that I simply won’t be eating cake is just really stupid. And when I realized it would never remember the cake anyway, eating cake is what seemed pointless.

I went to the grocery store. I came home and made egg muffins with turkey sausage and veggies. Then, after dinner tonight, I made a big stir fry of chicken breast, peppers, onions and lots of red pepper. I sliced up a pear and sprinkled it with cinnamon. And then I packed a little bag with what I’ll need for my cleanse while I’m away next weekend. It all fit in a sandwich-size plastic bag. It ain’t hard!

I’m still going to weigh in tomorrow and see if I like those results better. But whatever it is, I know it won’t be what it was 6 months ago. And it’s time to change that.

You in or what?