When I was a kid, my parents had a bathroom scale. It was brown plastic with a basket weave pattern, and it was analog, so you could see the panel zoom back and forth as you bounced on the scale. Which I did, frequently. Which is probably why we no longer have that bathroom scale. I broke it. But I broke it in the name of fun! Sad, pathetic fun.
Since then, I have never been in possession of a scale with which to weigh myself. This was fine with me, because I never gave a shit how much I weighed after I hit a whopping 40 pounds at 4 years old. (I was SO PROUD of myself, you guys. I WAS A GIANT. No one could possibly take me down, ESPECIALLY not my 9 year old brother. This, it turns out, was my first brush with hubris.) I got weighed at the doctor’s office and that was it. In college, I was mildly concerned that I was underweight (it took a lot of work to get to 110 pounds you guys. Feel free to hate late teens/early twenties me. I kinda do) but I figured the freshman 15 would show up eventually.
Eventually turned out to be when I was around 25 and dating a guy who did not have a working oven, so ate out almost all the time. When we broke up I lost almost all the weight I had gained while dating him, but only for about a month an then my body was like “wait, this is fucked up, let’s pack it on, sister!”
Over the winter holiday especially, after months of working to get ready for this spring’s DCRG tryouts, I got a lot of “have you lost weight? You look great!” And I was happy to report that I had lost half an inch off my waist (which I undoubtedly put right back on at dinner New Years Eve. Five desserts, y’all. Five. After fondue for dinner. All made by two of my aunts who are very good at making delicious food. Food you do NOT turn down if you like your taste buds even a little.) But as my mom said, “I don’t know what that is in pounds.” And while I am happy to measure my weight loss in how well my clothes fit, I admit to being curious as to my weight. So I put a digital bathroom scale on my Christmas/birthday wishlist, and Dad got it for me for my birthday.
On September 13th, I posted that I weighed 154 pounds at my previous doctor visit. On my birthday we tried it out, except we didn’t calibrate it first and I was dressed and had just eaten so I am fairly certain the number was way off (150) especially since it has never gone that high for me since, and I didn’t magically lose 20 pounds. Depending on the time of day, I am between 130 and 135 pounds right now. Don’t worry, I am not going to be obsessing over these numbers any more than I obsess over what my dress size is, but I think it’s neat that I can weigh 134 at bedtime, then get up to pee at 3am and way 131. THREE POUNDS OF PEE! WHAT?! That’s CRAZY, guys. And this morning I was back to 134, despite the fact that I peed before getting on the scale this morning. I love the weirdness of our bodies.
On the skating front, it was snowing giant winter-movie snowflakes when I left work (nice of it to snow on the day I didn’t wear a jacket and wore ballet flats instead of boots) and kept on snowing until around 6, so I did not brave the idiot machine that is wet-weather traffic in DC, and thus did not skate. But I am going to tonight! Possibly Bat Cat will join me, too. I’m very excited!