A very weighty issue

Follow my blog with Bloglovin The weighty, weight of weigh-ins!

I made a hard decision the first of this month.  In an effort to get myself back into shape, I faced a horrible decision.  A really terrible, horrible decision.  That was to dust off the bathroom scales and jump back on.  Just like riding a bike, I'm sure.  But more painful than any bike-ride I've ever taken.  Even the one where my older sister was doubling me home from school on the back of her bike, and decided that was a great time to practice going hands free...apparently it is never a great time to practice going hands free when doubling someone (especially your little sister) on the back of your bike!

So here I was preparing myself for some pain.  I was prepared for the pain and the outcome was as painful as I had predicted, but I hoped this would be the kick start I needed to get back into a healthier life style.

 

It got me thinking as to when I stopped the medieval torture of the weekly weigh-in and why I stopped?  I obviously made a decision a few years back, (probably after a visit to my mum's for a scrumptious pork roast and homemade hot, spongey pud) not to go through with my weekly weight check.
 

There had been transgressions in the past, but that particular week must have been a real doozy, as on this occasion I managed to kick the scales under the bathroom cabinet and forget about them (for quite some time, accordingly to the thick layer of dust they had accumulated).

 

For some people, a tight fit on the clothing front would be enough to say "hey...put that piece of cake down, and ignore that sausage roll*" but I wasn't raised to be a quitter,  I'm made of stronger stuff than that!  Helloooooo sausage roll...come to mama. 

 

I obviously managed to battle through the discomfort and straight-jacket effect of my clothing due to my ever expanding waist line.  Over time, I gave up the battle, and started to buy larger dress sizes, but my "skinny" outfits stayed in my spare-wardrobe...just in case.  That was up until this Christmas.  My niece scored big...because there comes a time when you realise, even if you do lose the weight, age has a sneaky trick up her sleeve, and that is back-fat, and middle age spread that no amount of dieting for some of us is ever going to budge.  This Christmas I had the epiphany that no matter what, I will never regain the figure of my twenty or thirty year old self.  

 

I look back on pictures of my younger self.  I was always body conscious, but now I see a young woman who looked pretty damn fine.  To quote George Bernard Shaw- "Youth is wasted on the young". 

 

While I fight the urge to feel I must conform to some ideal, my bad back says "no".  There is also something to be said for not having to lie on the bed to zip up a pair of jeans, or struggle to do up the zip on my dress.  But I think at my age, I need realistic expectations.  I am not in my twenties, or thirties, and very soon I will not be in my forties.  Weight loss should be for health and a feeling of well being, not because we live in a society that gears most products and advertising for youth.

There in lies the problem - to scale or not to scale?  What works for you?

 

On a side note - in my thirties I fancied myself quite the modernist poet, not in the style of the likes of E. E. Cummings or Elizabeth Bishop....but rocking more of a Pam Ayres vibe!  (If you aren't familiar with Pam...check out some of her literary masterpieces such as "Oh, I wished I'd looked after me Teeth" and "Sam and the Paraffin Man").  Anyhow, my slight digression here is due to the fact that one of my poems, written 17 years ago, even then expressed my fear of the scales.  So enjoy....or not!  And by the way, after typing this poem out again...sod the bloody scales...I might just have to toss them back under the bathroom cabinet!!!

 

A Very Weighty Issue:

 

Every morning as I ready

For the busy day ahead,

I have a little ritual,

One I've really come to dread

 

It takes place in my smallest room

Before my morning bath,

And it has the strange ability

To make me cry or laugh

 

Just before I embark

On this ritualistic torture,

There are a few pre-requisites

That I must first endure

 

Like removing heavy PJ's,

A quick pit-stop to the loo,

The adjusting of the dials

On my scale's window view

 

I move them 'round the bathroom floor,

Securing the best post,

Before I step aboard for

The results of last night's roast

 

I wait with baited breath

Until the dial slides into place,

And hesitantly glance down,

Prepared for joy or disgrace

 

Even now I can hear your heartfelt

Feministic scream.

That weight should have no bearing

On a woman's self esteem

 

Get real!  TV and fashion mags

Have made us all aware,

To get ahead, one must look like

One's just survived on air

 

What will that little window show,

Fried eggs upon my toast?

Or back to chocolate diet shakes

To atone for mother's roast

 

A day of feeling really good

In anything I wear?

Or rustling through my wardrobe

For my piece of "fat-day" gear

 

I look...thank God!

It seems to me that I have lost a gram

I quickly jump off,

Just in case I find the dial has jammed

 

On my way to work,

I stop outside the bakery.

Weight loss deserves it's own reward...

Doughnuts for morning tea

*Sausage Roll - a very delicious and not so healthy Commonwealth nation delicacy - which comprises of sausage meat wrapped in pastry...and if you are a true Kiwi connoisseur - dipped in Watties Tomoto Sauce!