Tim and I have been working for a couple of months (well, for years actually but I'm talking consistently) on developing healthier and perhaps somewhat thinner versions of ourselves. Better food choices, discipline in portioning, and exercise are the basics of our plan. I don't count calories, I don't add up fat grams, and most of all I don't like the scale. It's all about the numbers. In fact, we haven't owned a scale for many, many years because I know my weakness. I have a tendency to obsess. The number on the scale becomes all-powerful and that's just an annoying way to live. Despite this, I caved to the request of my husband to purchase a scale. I've weighed myself five times in the five days we've owned it. For those of you who aren't math-minded -that's once a day. Not bad. Not obsessing. Still more than really necessary but I feel good that I have made my peace with the scale. Tim, on the other hand...
weighs himself constantly. Not so much because he cares what it says but because he is so fascinated by the fluctuation of the number through out the day. He wakes up, he weighs. He runs, he weighs. He showers, he weighs. He eats, he weighs. He poops, he weighs.
(Tim would like for me to point out that he has never weighed himself post-poop. This is just an example of his wife exaggerating the truth for the sake of humor. However, he does admit that his curiosity is now peaked, so there's that.)
A few mornings ago he came into the bedroom and said, "I gained six pounds with breakfast and shoes." I shook my head and said, "maybe you should stop eating shoes for breakfast." ;-)If I'd known how much fun he would have with this new "toy" I would've waited and given it to him for Christmas. Who knew?