3 is a magic number

School house rock - I can hum the tune almost in my sleep - but for me 3 is not a magic number. My "magic" number is higher - but still unattainably low. And despite knowing better, despite intellectually knowing that its not healthy to worship or offer up sacrifices to the scale goddess (because it is a goddess - only a female would be that truly hateful and moody) - I do. I tiptoe to the thing every morning - hoping that if I sneak up on it unexpectedly it might be startled into revealing a lower number. I'm stripped naked - having gone to the bathroom, before I eat breakfast and before I shower; convinced that all of these things cause my weight to be lower. I step on it and say a little prayer that the indiscretions of yesterday won't show up this morning. But they always do.

My magic number is the one that in my brain would be THE perfect weight - but I have another important number as well - the "oh crap" number. Generally its the number that causes me to freak out, to fast, to eat only raw vegetables and to begin exercising with the determination of an iron man competitor. But for the last year, it hasn't. It hasn't caused the panic and racing heart. I still hate it. Hate it with a passion and out loud I say "I've got to do something" but it just hasn't kicked my butt into gear and I've been waffley about actually following a strict diet and fitness routine. Don't get me wrong - I think about what I eat (obsessively - see blog description) and I work out at least 3 times a week. But its a half hearted effort - something I'm doing out of my crazy need to feel like I'm doing something - not out of a real hope for results or change. Something I do so that I can say hopelessly - "I don't know why I'm not losing weight. . .I work out". But this morning. . .the "oh crap" number was far behind me and the "Holy Mother of GOD howDidThisHappen None of my pants are going to fit" number appeared on the screen.

Holy Mother of God - how did this happen? None of my pants are going to fit.