I’m staying at a friends house while he’s on vacation and he has a scale right next to the bed. I managed to not weigh myself for about two weeks. But this morning I succumb. I have this weird thing when I weigh myself. To make sure I can handle the number, I got on the scale with my computer, a big dictionary and a bottle of water. I decided that if that number looked OK, I’d slowly start to unload my weird armor. So book, bottle and laptop, I still weighed 12 pounds less than I did in Panama. So I dropped the dictionary and water bottle…but kept the laptop…15 pounds less than Panama. Things were looking OK but not great. I knew the final number would not be something to celebrate about. So finally, I put the laptop down and look down closing one eye (because in my mind looking at the number with one eye makes it less traumatizing).
Result? 21 pounds less than my lowest in Panama. And SIX more than I weighed pre-Ecuador and pre-Ivan. On my trip to Ecuador, I decided it was a fine time to stock up on all the fried fish, cocktails, beers and rum and cokes that crossed my path, and while my darling brother LOST weight, I felt my jeans getting tighter and tighter every day. Such is life. Why is gaining weight so much easier and so much more fun than losing weight? What am I going to do in the US??? This is why I hate looking at the scale. If the number is bad, rather than motivating me to eat healthy and go to the gym, I somehow end up eating Fritos and Jets (white/milk chocolate mix) for three days straight before I metaphorically slap myself and get it together.
But today I psychologically prepared myself. I told myself that even if the number was horrible, it would not send me into a “let-me-get-even-fatter rampage. So rather than take the lazy way out and take a taxi to my cafe/office, I’m going to walk. And no more patoto chips and candy bars. I bet the guys in the shop around the corner are going to miss me. They didn’t even have to ask me what I wanted anymore. So change starts…tomorrow.