I bought my wife a scale yesterday, as she was good-naturedly complaining about looking fat in a recent picture. In fairness, she was wearing a summer dress that sort of billows. Paris Hilton would look heavier in this dress.
But I definitely get it. After trying to at least get up to 120 pounds for most of her adult life (achievable during pregnancy, but only for those situations and towards the end anyway), with marginal success, always a thin woman, around the age of 50 she gained a few pounds. Then surgeries and lots of meds and a very busy but sedentary life, with no regular exercise, and it happens.
The positive news is that this is nothing, at least not in America. She weighs less than the average (American, again) woman and looks wonderful, but hey: If it bothers her, I’m perfectly willing to help. Since I hold the philosophy that the only way to keep an eye on the weight creeping up is to step on the scale every morning, under the same circumstances (naked or as few clothes as possible, and always the same type, e.g., underwear and bare feet), and since my scale is in a corner of my work room and offers little privacy, I bought her a scale to be used in our master bathroom with a door that locks. Get as naked as you want.
Of course, I say that a lot.
Not that I want to dwell, even given my obsession on this subject. At a certain point – and under a certain point – the health effects of being a bit overweight are meaningless. The rest is comfort and vanity. And few people discount vanity.
And then there’s age, the great equalizer in terms of hey, we’re still alive. We can live with love handles.
But there are clothes we wish we could wear before carting them off to the thrift shop, and there are cameras everywhere.
So maybe the scale will help. My suggestion is to write the weight down, expect some fluctuations from time to time as water is retained or meals are eaten late at night, or just heavy meals that stick around until the next morning, and watch what it does. Up is bad, down is good in this scenario. We shall see.
And after some wifeless indulgences these past couple of weeks, and spotty exercise, I could use some help myself. I keep rigorous accounting of the calories I consume, good ones and bad ones, just an old routine that has locked itself in, I got pretty good at predicting my weight, even if I skip the scale for a few days. I even put it all in a spreadsheet, calculating what I should weigh, matching that against what the scale says, revving up my optimism and counting the late-night eating and so on, but this is starting to look foolish.
So I decided a goal was in order. My 57th birthday is in 29 days; I think clocking in around 175 pounds, an excellent weight for me, is in order and not out of the question. Goal posted then. I’ll keep the updates coming.
For those of you who have your own problems with summer, I’ll just mention in passing that western Washington has been warm and sunny, unusual for our normal June gloom when the marine air pushes inland with low clouds. Sunny, and maybe more than warm for our area, although nothing to speak of for most of the rest of the country. Mostly 70s, which of course is perfect. Lately, into the 80s and creeping toward 90 and beyond the next week or so. It makes us uncomfortable, given the strangeness and lack of air conditioning, but really, we manage. Windows open, fans buzzing. Very manageable. Not 115 degrees like Phoenix recently went through. Little humidity. Warmish.
Prof. Cliff Mass, Northwestern weather guru, suggests that we’re getting a preview of 50 years in the future, when the heating of our planet increases and we do nothing about it. Of course, barring some advancement in science, I won’t be around in 2070 to see if he’s right. In the meantime, I’m sort of enjoying it. A mild reminder of my years in the desert, and better than cold, definitely.
And if you want to weigh? Naked has its advantages these days.