You Were Always on my Mind

I love the commercial -- and I don't even know what product is being advertised -- where the women are walking through all sorts of daily life routines and a scale is chained to them, and Willie Nelson is singing in the background.

The scale is a funny thing (just as the mind was yesterday). I'm terrified of it -- and yet, I love it and can totally become obsessed with it. When I'm doing well in my eating and exercising, when I feel like I'm "on," I want to weigh myself all the time. It has become normal for me to weigh myself twice a day -- in the morning and when I get home from the gym at night. It was something I looked forward to, something that I would rely upon to guage my mood. Triumph! Euphoria! Success!

And then I hit the skids. The anniversary party -- and beer with my family. Thanksgiving -- and way too much good food and dessert. The holiday season in general -- and more good food and Christmas cookies. Virginia for a week -- out of my routine. And so 9.5 pounds later, I struggled to get back on track. I made a galliant effort after the first of the year, but by not having my gym open yet, it didn't feel right. I didn't have it in me.

And then this past weekend, I hit the bottom. Eating uncontrollably, even when I wasn't hungry. Food can become my addiction, my drug of choice. I know that. I have to remember how awful I felt on Sunday -- and never want to feel like that again.

I've had a really good week of eating normal and healthy. And I don't feel deprived. I've a great week of work-outs -- added lots of diversity into my ab work and cardio, and can feel it in my body. I certainly can attest to the "pain is good" mantra. And I so wanted to weigh myself this week. So many times. Tuesday night. Wednesday morning. Wednesday night . . . and on and on.

But I made a deal with my trainer. I'm not weighing myself until February 6. That was the day I started all of this last year. It seemed like a good day to remember -- it was Super Bowl Sunday. It is also Babe Ruth's birthday. For that reason, way more than the Super Bowl, it is a date I will always remember. So February 6th -- she wants me to wait. She wants me to stop obsessing over the scale, over the numbers. If I don't have the numbers to rely on, I'll use my other senses to know how I'm doing. How do my clothes feel? How do I look in the mirror?

I did cheat once this week. I needed to know that I didn't completely blow it all last weekend. But it was quick -- and more of a ballpark figure. I don't even remember the number -- I just needed to know the range. I think I did that Tuesday morning.

So no scale until next Monday. I made a promise -- and I've also made a note. On my scale, covering the numbers window, I have a post-it, that simply reads: "Is today February 6th? Then step off, bitch!"

Hopefully, each morning, I will get the message.