Just a Stone's Throw Away

When my parent's first came to Canada over 40 years ago among the possessions they brought with them was a bathroom scale.

When I was a kid, I used to marvel at this scale. I used to press down on it with one foot and watch the needle move (I even think I jumped up and down on it from time to time too - probably hastening the demise of the scale). What fascinated me most was, it only had the numbers one to about 25 or 30 marked out on it, and when I stood on it, it only went up to four or five and for the longest time, I never knew why.

My Mum eventually explained to me that the scale was in a unit of measurement called a Stone and a Stone weighed 14 pounds and therefore each number represented 14 pounds. Based on my limited math skills at the time, I think I had little interest in the concept of actually weighing myself and continued to enjoy making the needle move up and back.

Ah, yes, the lost innocence of youth.

Now I approach my scale with a combination of fright, loathing and resignation and I glare at it not with interest but more of a keen, almost rabid fixation – will the number be lower than the last time I checked?

Since late October I have been actively trying to get in better shape. Accounting for what I eat and atoning for it as well (in the form of exercise). The exercise has now become a habit and one that I do daily. The accounting for eating has been a combination of forward planning (which works well) coupled with a more-or-less-honest review of reality at the end of each day. Let’s just leave it by saying some days the reality is close to the forward planning, sometimes – meh, not so much.

Since I started my kick-my-own-arse-‘cause-no-one-else-can-do-it fitness routine (I’m not sure the name will catch on, might be a bit verbose) I have lost 16 pounds – that’s more than a Stone (in case you weren’t paying attention earlier).

Now that I have thrown off a Stone and am merely a stone’s throw (two pounds) from my first goal (Mexico here I come) part of me wants to celebrate but then I look in the mirror.

Mirrors and I have always had an unpleasant relationship. They are necessary evils, sort of (and the sort of part relates to their necessity, not their level of evil, because trust me, they are E.V.I.L.).

When I look in a mirror, I always think of the ubiquitous “Hall of Mirrors” – where there are mirrors that distort people every which way. I don’t need one of those – my brain is one of those. When I look in the mirror, I see someone with large hips and thighs.

Even now, after having lost the weight and gained the beginnings of my washboard abs., I still see giant thighs and huge hips.

Even after all this change, I still see myself the same way; overweight and unattractive.

Sad really, since I’m sure the image I see in the mirror is very distorted, and yet, even though I know intuitively it is distorted, I can’t see past the distortion.

So, I begin to wonder – does it matter?

Does all the weight loss and the increased fitness matter if I still see myself as overweight? How much do I need to lose in order to not see it? My next, and ultimate goal weight (only a mere 7 pounds away), or do I need to set a new goal weight, maybe 10, or 15, or 20 pounds away? As someone more eloquent than I once said: “…that way madness lies…”

So I will have to remind myself of my fitness motivation – it was not the number on the scale I was seeking, it was to get in better shape for the summer ahead. There are far better gauges of fitness than the scale (or the mirror) – being able to complete a two-hour spin without feeling dead the next day – having to get your pants altered to have more than two inches off the waist. Both of which I have accomplished, thank you very much Mirror.

So to both the scale and the mirror I say: “O, that way madness lies; let me shun that; No more of that.” You will be merely two gauges among many and nothing more.