Granted, it’s a pound less than the last time, but 10 more pounds than I started the school year with, and 20 more pounds than when I felt really good.
Don’t worry, this isn’t one of those “If a train leaves Chicago going east at 800 mph and a train leaves Boston going west at 740, where will they meet?” questions. (I hate math. Passionately.) Rather, it’s a lament on the fact that I’ve worked out for a solid week, am attempting to eat better (save the 3pm jinx..read more about that yesterday) and the only thing I’m losing is time I might otherwise spend napping by lifting weights.
I like to imagine it’s because my muscles have grown so much in 7 days that they’re equalling the fat I’ve burned (muscle does weigh more than fat, kids!) but it’s more likely that I’m not working as hard as I could to shed the pounds.
Why does it matter so much now? Class reunion. In a little over a month.
Mind you, I’m not one of those obsessive types that worries about social gatherings. I was happy to be able to squeeze this ass into a pair of nicely tailored, albeit fat-girl pants and a pretty top for this gathering of people I can’t wait to see (I’m weird. Love class reunions. Small school, lots of fun. And a little like a family reunion of sorts). I’m less about the dress size and more about the memories.
That was, until mom called and laid down a challenge. One of my friends from school who still lives near mom dropped off a birthday present for me a few weeks ago at mom’s, so when she called she mentioned it. Our conversation went something like this:
“M. stopped by today to drop off your birthday present. She looks great.”
“Really? Do you have any idea what it might be?”
“No, but she looks amazing. Her hair is really long and straight, she had on this cute…”
“Mom, the present. Focus with me. What does it sound like? Is it Bath and Body Works? Something Ohio State?”
“It’s got beautiful wrapping. And her skirt was so cute. She looks like she’s lost weight. And her glasses…oh, how adora…”
“The present? Just unwrap it and tell me what it is so I can send her a thank-you note.” (Because I don’t want to come home if you’re going to tell me how skinny and pretty my friends are BEFORE my class reunion. You’re MY cheerleader, not theirs). “Go unwrap it.”
Unable to resist the siren’s call to unwrap a present, mom padded off to the front closet while I plotted and planned. At the time, it was almost two months to the day of the reunion, so I had +/- 60 days to drop 20 pounds. As I scratched out some kind of division problem on my notepad ( I didn’t know what number went under the bracket so I had to do a few trial and error runs), mom came back to the phone.
“Great stuff. Bath and Body Works and a Buckeye thingie.” While she attempted to describe the presents, I finished the math. Long division short, it was too little time in which to whittle myself into the body I envisioned but a really good reason to start. Or get serious, as the case may be.
Which is why this number is frustrating. It’s 3 more than I started with a few weeks ago and I’m exercising. One of my pet peeves is people who scale-obsess, and I will not turn into that beast. But it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t know where the hell this number came from. Maybe God is a practical joker. Maybe the scale is out of whack. Or maybe I need to step up the exercise and shake my booty a little faster to get it moving in the right direction.
Whatever–I don’t ever want to see this number on my scale again. Time to get serious.