I got some scales on Friday (it is Tuesday when I write, I’m not sure when I’ll be posting this). They’re pretty and silver and I like them, but they’re having a weird effect on me. Now that I can see more precisely where I am with regards to my weight, I’m feeling a weird urge to get that number down faster. Even though the kg number is only related to my squishiness, not a very good ultimate measure.
There’s a part of me that’s really into numbers, a part that equates math with truth. Let’s call it The Mathematician. The Mathematician is jumping up and down with joy right now, calculating targets, working out how much I can lose per week, and telling me I can’t have a flapjack as desert because that’s too many calories.
I’d like to take a moment to say something to that number crunching part of me.
Butt out, this isn’t your game!
I’m not counting calories. I don’t even know how, and neither do you. I’m not on a diet. I’m just trying to treat food differently by eating mindfully, and having some attention for the things I put in my mouth. I think I will probably lose some weight by doing this, but that isn’t the point. And denying myself my own homemade flapjacks (fer cryin out loud) is ruining the experiment.
Away with you! Go play Dance of Shiva or something!
Time for an emergency rule:
Weighing Happens on Saturday Only.
Also:
Flapjacks!
Yum.
Isn’t it funny how we get into trouble with ourselves?
{ 1 comment }
Oh, yes! Funny & very not-funny, all at the same time.
Thnx for the example of some excellent words to use to that particular unhelpfully-helpful bit of oneself. I shall remember that for the next time I’m stressing the calories, when I should be paying attention to what my body NEEDS.