Yesterday was a gorgeous, sunny autumn day here in London. These days of September and October sunshine are always amongst some of my favourites of the year – the city is so beautiful in the sunshine, and without the scorching temperatures and busy crowds of high summer everyone is a little more chilled and a little less rushed, particularly at two on a Saturday afternoon, post-brunch, pre-evening.
As I walked from Angel to Old Street to Moorgate to Liverpool Street, cutting a swathe through the City, I had a good think about posts I wanted to get written this week. I want to write all about Smart Women Week, visits to the zoo, the books I’ve been reading, the baking event I attended a couple of nights ago…..it struck me that I should also do a ‘Wednesday Weigh In’ post.
And then I realised.
I have no idea what I weigh right now.
This fact, when I realised it yesterday, made me feel almost dizzy. I always know what I weigh. Down to the decimal point. To not have that number in big, bold, ten feet high letters in my mind was….odd. A little scary. And pretty darn intoxicating. Since about the age of eleven, I have always know that number. I’ve always felt the horror and shame and self-loathing of a bigger number; the pride and ego and fragile fear of the number shrinking. I’ve spent twenty-three years of my life letting that number dictate an awful lot to me – how I should feel, how I should act, how I should be.
And right now….I have no idea what that number is.
Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying the healthkick is off, because this year I am all about getting fitter and healthier. I’ve been walking, and eating salads, and swimming, and gymming, and sleeping, and trying to keep portions small. But for the first time in a long time, I have no idea what I weigh. That number, with all it signifies and makes me feel, is off the table.
I kind of like not obsessing over it.
So in October, I’m going to continue this trend and will next weigh myself on November 1st (because I’m nosey and I think by then I’ll be dying to know if the good habits I’m trying to espouse are helping me to shrink, even if just a little). No more daily weighs. No more spreadsheets plotting what I need to lose. Just hard work, good fun, and a set of scales hidden in the box room.
That number has been so key to my self-image for so long. But I don’t think it’s the most important number about me. So I thought I’d close with a completely different set of numbers, each of which probably tell you a little more about me than the one on the scale….or will at least offer a little amusement.
US states visited.
The number of homes I’ve lived in.
Times I’ve read Pride and Prejudice.
Months since I’ve been to the dentist. Must fix soon….
Days till Christmas. SO flipping excited.
Fillings I have.
Age at which I passed my driving test.
The amount of times I’ve sung the seminal ‘Pass Out’ by Tinchy Stryder at karaoke sessions. Like him I’ve been to Southampton but I’ve never been to Scunthorpe, so I feel a kinship…
Longest distance I’ve walked in a single period.
Number of bridesmaids I had last year at our wedding. My friendships are one of the greatest treasures in my life.
I’m re-learning how to play the numbers game a little.