Scales & Crack

I broke down and bought a bathroom scale tonight. I haven't owned one in over five years. I initially got rid of it for any number of reasons (1) moving from Texas to New Hampshire and didn't have the space for it, (2) it wasn't working right (ie, I wasn't losing weight), or (3) I didn't want to become a slave to it. I'm sure the reason is a little bit of this and a little bit of that.

I don't know that I've ever been a slave to the scale. I don't think.... I guess what I mean by being a "slave" to it is stepping on it every day, twice a day, and throwing myself onto the floor in a fit of despair at a 2 oz gain. That has never happened (nor will it). However, for many years I did let it deter my efforts. For example, if, after six months, I didn't lose XYZ pounds, I'd quit. This was when I was watching the Biggest Loser and naively assumed that because I was bigger I'd lose more faster. This is not always true, sadly. So for years, I'd get into "I'm gonna workout and eat healthy!" periods, and would then quit when the scale didn't budge that much. I didn't consider any of the other changes, just the scale. So, maybe I was a slave to it.

Not. Any. More.

I feel that I'm in a safer place now because I've spent the last 16 months breaking through that old cycle of workout for six months--quit for a year--workout six months--quit for another year. Plus, I need it if Weight Watchers is going to work properly. There are two scales at my gym and my weight is different by 1 to 1.5 pounds between the two. That's beyond annoying. Plus, they're "old school" slide-bar ones and I never know if I'm getting an accurate weight. So... I am now a scale owner. Hopefully my sister won't find me rolling around the bathroom floor wailing in despair one morning in the near future.

My ultimate choice for a donut.

Also... my house smells like crack. And by crack, I mean the carrot cake that I'm baking for a farewell party for a coworker this week. I've always had a pretty severe sweet tooth. (Mmmm donuts. The picture to the right is worse than the smell of the carrot cake. How sad is that?) A few years ago, I realized that the stuff was making me sick. Literally. I could feel my pancreas working overtime to combat the sugar. I was pretty sure that I was giving myself diabetes. Plus, I was going SO overboard with certain things. One brownie was never enough, so I'd eat four. There are only three pieces left? Let me finish them ALL now so I won't be tempted later. Needless to say, I had a problem. So, I cut it (all sweets, basically) out of my diet.

It's been at least two years now since I've had candy/cake/etc. The closest I get is dark chocolate covered almonds. While I no longer crave cake and can turn it and other sweets away without a problem, some days are MUCH harder than others. Especially when it smells so good. I think I'm a sugar addict. A former sugar addict. At the moment, I'm jonesin' a little!

Stupid cake.