Wars We Wage

Love and Hate


I am saddened by the relationship that I have with my scale. It sits under the sink and is, for the most part, ignored by just about the entire family - except me. I know that it's there and I swear I feel it looking at me before each shower. I brush my teeth and try not to make eye contact with the empty black screen that seems intent on staring me into submission. "Just step on board...", it seems to say. I rarely give in. I often walk away, proud of myself for resisting the urge to know the effects of those last few weeks of indulgence. Somehow, after leaving the bathroom, I feel that although I won the battle, the war is slipping away from me. Aren't I the real loser in the end? I remember a time when the scale and I were pals. When we were two soldiers trudging through the battlefield together. I often relied on it to keep a steady path, to stay the course. I can't say when our relationship took a turn. I can't be certain of when we parted ways and I grew to resent it. It was most likely during the cold months of Winter as I packed on some extra pounds. Much of this weight came in the form of sticky toffee cookies, cocktails and pies of all varieties. I sure love the holidays, and I celebrate them by making and eating all things rich and fatty. My diet during those months would make a cardiologist cry. As I indulged, the scale sat unused. Little by little it was pushed further beneath the sink until all you could see was the edge of its white platform. It has been reduced to a dusty relic, hiding in the shadows, fading into the background of my bathroom. Our friendship lies on a stretcher, barely clinging to life.

The Revival

I learned my lesson a while back that when you start a diet, the worst thing you can do is to start weighing yourself in every day...at least initially. This can be discouraging and actually cause a set back if your motivation is already teetering. It's always a good idea to wait a while. Get comfortable with eating better and with your new lifestyle before you start looking for drastic results. It's a great rule. I broke this rule three days ago. I pulled out the scale, tapped it with my foot to turn the sensor on and quickly stepped aboard. I held my breath and waited for the verdict. Defeat. I hadn't lost any weight. I stepped off of the scale and kicked it back under the sink. I was sick with anger and disappointment. I sat on the edge of the tub and, to my astonishment, had to fight back tears. "Why isn't this working??" In the midst of my tantrum I felt a tinge of self satisfaction. I glanced at the scale which was propped up against the wall from the force of my kick. "I knew you would let me down." I was right to ignore it all this time. Right to leave it gathering dust. Justified in shooting it dirty looks and blaming...Oh, who was I kidding? The scale hadn't let me down. I let me down. I shunned the scale so that I could continue to give myself permission to indulge. Let's be honest, I wasn't ignoring the scale, I was ignoring my health. I was being lazy and I was the only one to blame. I was fighting myself. Once the revelation sunk in I stood up, reached under the sink and gently sat the scale upright and in it's usual spot. With the war over I could see more clearly. This wasn't an enemy, but a tool. A guide. I would restore peace with the scale once and for all. But not for at least a week. :)