Numbers Are Cruel, Just Like Third Grade Girls

Week One  (pronounced "Weak One")

(Warning:  Mental Images are Visually Graphic.  Eat lunch first.)

Measurement day!  Before I started anything else (well, besides this blog), I had to get this evil out of the way.  Time to document my starting point.  I began with my feet, because I wanted to start with small numbers (for my morale), and because I suspect even they’ve gotten bigger.  My poor feet:  they have NO idea what I’m about to ask of them next week.

As for the rest of me, I took the typical thigh, hip, waist, arm measurements.  You know what I’m talking about…we’ve all been there.  I rolled my eyes and patiently worked my way up the mighty Tree of Life, nonchalantly saying the numbers out loud.  I whistled under my breath too, like you do when you’re walking through a bad parking lot and you are trying to appear brave to anyone watching.  Which is disturbing to think there are people watching in the first place, but whatever. 

Jot, erase, underline….making cheerful little notes so I’d remember things like where to measure my thighs each time, because baby, these thighs are a-changin'!  I became a little surprised at some numbers, realizing that if my measurement points were stars, I’m pretty sure it would be a hefty, yet impressive constellation up there in the sky, with a very long Latin name. I even measured my neck. 

I digress.  On purpose.  Because here’s where all the fun got sucked out of the room.

I tried to measure the next four places:  ‘tummy’ ‘butt’ ‘hips’ and ‘waist’.  Suddenly, like a slap out of the sky, Mirror Mirror informed me that these four regions had all congealed into one entity. 

A planet.  

It was hard to tell them all apart.  I stopped whistling and it got very quiet.  I turned sideways so as to fill up less of the mirror and found a place to target all my disappointment, shock and anger...directly towards the fat roll just below my bra line and just above my waist.  Like a sweet little pork loin, but not in a good way.  I considered it for a moment, thinking of how to measure THAT. 

THAT bastard got off Scott Free, being in a place which couldn’t be measured or defined because it was in Middle Earth, and thus, just stayed attached like a garden slug. 

I know what is going to happen; it will hang out with me all day,  get in the way of jogging bras and generally be loud in its form, and so I’m going to deal with it and move on.  I’ll capture it in a photograph (please let its image show up on film, just so we know I don't have to deal with a vampire issue too, for gawd's sake.)  My photos will confirm its blessed disappearance over the next year and that's all the energy I'm giving to my back roll, from this day forward.  You're behind me buddy, where you belong. 

So, here is where I will leave you today.  I documented my weight and inches and prepared to be a bit shocked, but realized I owned those numbers.  Celebrating, kids, having a busy life…all good things, but just too much of them.   We can work with that.  For now, those numbers are written in my little book and I intend to leave them in the dust. 

Next, I’ll talk about my second step.  Oh, the fun.