I should start with a confession – I am paranoid about three letters – F.A.T, becoming a fat person, that is.
I try to stay sane by adopting a holistic life style and not succumbing to crash diets and fitness fads. But there is no hiding from the truth.
I am a border line freak.
I attribute this to the fact that I was teased as a child for being plump (“healthy”, as my mother would put it). But off late, that excuse is beginning to feel childish. So I decided to grow up; move away from that image of mine and the constant need to keep working at the kilos and inches.
When my weighing scale stopped working due to a bathroom flooding accident I decided not to replace it.
“I can live with not weighing myself every single day”, I told myself. A bold step, indeed.
You see, research shows that those who weight themselves every day are able to exercise better weight control than those who don’t.
For me, it is slightly more than that. That scale, single “digit”-edly, holds the control to make or break my day.
Here is what ensued in the week after.
My scale broke on a Sunday afternoon. So my first day of life without knowing how much I weighed that morning, was Monday, which was actually quite an easy day to start with as Monday is my fasting day. So I knew I was not going to add on more that day.
Day 2 was not too bad either. But I noticed that in my resolution to live without the scale, I was controlling what I ate. Not a single cookie or a sweet touched my lips that day.
It was beginning to nag. I didn’t like the fact I did not know what all the food and exercise was doing to me. I also started realising that while everyday weighing sounded slightly obsessive compulsive, it also allowed me some freedom. As long as my weight was under control, I can wiggle a little and pack a treat or two into my day. Now I felt like I had to control every moment…
By now, I should have moved to judging how healthy and fit I am by the way I feel rather than external indicators. I could not see it really happening. I was tempted by a piece of cake and gave in and yearned to know what the cake had done to my body – did it convert itself into a gravitation- friendly few hundred grams or did it melt away in my run that morning?
Well, this story finally had an anti-climax happy ending. By Friday, my scale, after a day of drying in the sun, started working again. By now, I was considering fasting every single day, so it was actually a relief to see those numbers appearing on the scale.
I sometimes wish I could be one of those who love to sleep and enjoy rich food…… Actually, I don’t.
I am happy the way I am, much to the chagrin of my husband, to prioritise health over taste and fret about every minute I did not spend working out, but I should have.