Life is More Than a Number
Outlaw Bathroom Scales
I think bathroom scales should be outlawed, banned like plastic grocery bags, sent to the crusher never to pop up an unwanted number again. My life seems to revolve around the number on that tiny screen. When I’m a few pounds under 150 I’m on top of the world, and when I’m a pound or two above it I’m down in the dumps, and yet I still look the same.
Name That Bathroom Scale
My bathroom scale has two names. It’s Darth Vader when I’m over, and Matt Damon when I’m under.
I actually have a love/hate relationship with my scale. Getting on it once a week motivates me to maintain my weight, but the constant fluctuation makes me crazy. Even though I’m within normal range for my height and age, there’s this ideal number stuck in my head that’s as mythical as the idea that maintaining my weight will ever be easy.
What’s going to happen if and when I achieve this goal? Will I be healthier? Happier? Find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow? Odds are nothing will change, including the roll around my middle. So why do I continue to be the dog chasing its tail?
Maybe the question I should be asking myself is, what will I gain (no pun intended) if I hit 145? Check out Diane Carbonell’s Fit to the Finish blog for some great insights on this.
I’d really like to blame Hollywood for the incessant advertising that promotes the fanatical obsession with youth, but honestly, I can’t. The truth is it comes from deep within me, and placing blame on advertising doesn’t stop the hamster running the wheel in my head.
The truth is, it’s not weight, it’s age, sagging skin, and it’s not going to change regardless of the number on the scale. And yet, my mind circles back. What if I lose those five pounds and that roll around my middle disappears? Even if it does, will I be able to sustain it and still have the occasional dessert, hamburger or popcorn at the movie?
How did I come to the determination that 145 pounds was my ideal weight? And why do I cringe when I admit I weigh a 150 pounds? My body is solid, dependable, always gets me where I need to go. Sounds like an ad for a pickup truck, doesn’t it? Recoiling again! I want to be the Mercedes with sleek angles and elegant lines, not a dependable, durable, built like a rock Chevy truck
It all comes back to image, though, whether it’s the number on the scale or the kind of vehicle you think you resemble. Am I alone with my fixation on the ideal weight? Has anyone found answers? I’d love to hear them.