Hey guys!  You know…it’s been a while since I’ve actually talked about dun dun dun my weight. “Weight” seems to be getting put into the “bad word” category alongside “fat” and all the words we’re self-censoring these days.  I was never one for much self-censorship or for political correctness since I feel by intentionally limiting my freedom to say certain things, I’m actually affirming the power of a word more than denying it — but, that’s a topic for another day.

So.  My weight.  If you recall in that 2-month challenge I did with Jen — I lost 10 pounds and got down to my lowest weight since, hmm, maybe 12 or 13 years old? It wasn’t a life altering accomplishment, the sky didn’t part, my troubles didn’t all of a sudden vanish, I didn’t find the leprechaun with the pot o’ gold at the end of the rainbow.  But I did find something worth finding — the brutal truth.  Oh that silly truth loves to hide herself in funny places — we rarely see truth in magazines or mirrors, but sometimes we find her after enough self-reflection and those 10 pounds really got me reflecting.

Some days we see the truth and others, too often, she’s a ghost whose gone on to haunt someone else.  So, truth, I’m reaching out to you — I’m trying to remind myself what you told me, because I’m getting caught up in the numbers again and trying to decipher what they mean.

I spend so much time calculating, putting weight on numbers and data.  Dollar signs. Research studies.  Statistics and sales.  We can’t escape the power, the intrigue, the value of numbers on everything in our day-to-day lives, so perhaps it’s natural that our weight becomes one more number to crunch, one more number to factor into the equation of “where we stand.”  Almost immediately after we’re born, we’re put on a scale — branded by the number we enter this world with.  By the time we’re kids, we learn how much numbers and data affect our day-to-day lives.  Things are “facts” if we can measure them.  We learn if we can see it, we can believe it.  Rulers, measuring cups, protractors, graphs, scales…

I want to lie to you.  I want to tell you that I am beyond numbers.  I want to tell you that what my scale says does not matter.  But I’d be full of shit, and, frankly, I’m not going to be one more person lying to you and telling you “the scale doesn’t matter!”  “It’s just a number!”  Why?  Because the scale does tell us something.  Sure, it can’t measure my happiness, or tell you how smart I am, but it can tell you I’ve lost 150 pounds.  Why does that matter?  Well it doesn’t if you don’t give it any validation.  I think that’s the point.

I can see your eyebrows crinkle and I understand.  Maybe you didn’t want to hear that that the scale I had resolved to throw out the window is back in my life for another clandestine love/hate affair.  But gimme a sec.  What I’m, not so eloquently, trying to say is that the scale measures stuff, but it’s YOU, ME, US who interpret what it means.  Numbers don’t mean anything to us outside of our interpretation and perception of them.

So, no.  I won’t be abandoning my scale.  I also won’t be throwing out my rulers, measuring cups, calculator, Garmin Forerunner, etc.

But I will be more cognizant of my own power to validate, invalidate or question what these objects measure or really mean.

Today my scale said, “Stop eating to get through your life.”  Wow, I have a magical scale, huh?!  Yep, it flew right in on a magical carpet bearing magical, calorie-free chocolates and a treasure chest of gold.  My point? I have one I swear.  I know what my healthy weight is — it’s that weight that I feel good and strong at.  I have been surpassing that weight because I’ve been eating when I’m not hungry.  I’ve been eating when I’m bored, when I’m stressed, in a box, with a fox (and with Dr. Seuss, apparently).

The truth about my weight is that it’s gone up since that challenge with Jen.  Sure, by only a couple pounds which could actually mean a number of things.  But only I know what it means.  It’s not water weight.  It’s not muscle gain.  It’s not any of those justifications that for some are truth.  My truth is that I need to step away from the peanut butter jar when life gets tough. Dear dear cranky Annabel — the peanut butter jar is not a panacea.

In the News

• Science Daily’s, “Junk Food Diet Causes Rats’ Brain Pleasure Centers To Become Progressively Less Responsive” (10/27/09) here
• Science Daily’s, “Cutting Sodium Consumption: A Major Public Health Priority” (10/27/09) here
• Science Daily’s, “Moderate Amounts Of Protein Per Meal Found Best For Building Muscle” (10/21/09) here

Give-Away Round Up

• Win some Vaseline Sheer Infusion here
• Win some Xagave and vegan cupcakes baked by my favorite hungry hippie here
• Win the books, Go Diary Free: The Guide and Cookbook for Milk Allergies, Lactose Intolerance, and Casein-Free Living and My Sweet Vegan: Passionate About Dessert here
• Win a Progresso panko and broth prize pack here
• Win a ton of cool loot including PB & Co.’s Dark Chocolate Dreams, Larabars and Back to Nature Granola here
• Win some Bakery on Main Gluten-Free Granola, Odwalla Bars and more here
• Win a Campbell’s Soup V8 Gift Pack here — Ends tonight at midnight EST
• Win a Rachael Ray 3-Piece “Egg Buddy” Set here

<3, The Cranky One