My ongoing self-proclaimed struggle with weight loss has come to an end. I am once and for all off the bandwagon of diets, weight control, and self-loathing. I didn’t actually loathe myself all that much, but you get the point. By chance, at a routine doctor’s visit, I stepped on the body fat calculator, and it set me free. As I held onto the handles, expecting the worst, the little machine calculated, and the terror in my heart grew. I made a promise that from that day forward I would do better. Thanksgiving be damned. Christmas keep your candy away. I was going to be good. I was going to take control. The machine beeped and spit out what looked like a receipt, and the nurse whisked it away.
Having stripped off every nonessential piece of clothing I owned (remember it weighs at least 5 pounds), I got dressed again and waited for the bad news.
And there were the words I longed to read: Within Normal Range. What? I questioned the nurse about this all the way to the exam room, and then I questioned the doctor. I have never been normal about anything.
How could I be Within Normal Range? We talked percentages and what a BMI (body mass index) was and how mine was—I’ll say it again: Within Normal Range. I asked for a copy of this important document, and I stuffed it into my purse. In my opinion, this was better than a diploma. Could everything that I had been doing actually be working? There are so many people to thank. I smiled all the way to the car and celebrated with a whole box of Fig Newtons. Bring on Thanksgiving; Christmas and New Year I’ll take your cookie plates and leftovers. I will, for once in my life, enjoy the holidays without being worried about my “bottom line.” Who knew that this year my resolution would be to give myself more credit? Let’s hope the credit lasts until the next doctor’s visit.
Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, and Happy New Year, Patagonia.
Thanks for reading.