In these crazy and uncertain times of Covid, we all have special worries and thoughts that we try to stifle–mine is my scales.
I always had the thought that if anything drastic happened, my first instinct is to grab my Hubby and grab my scales. It would be a close race but both are easy to grasp quickly.
Hubby is special. But let’s talk about my scales, that have moved with me from place to place and suffered through my agonies from doughnuts, pizzas, chocolates, fresh baked breads, cookies stuffed with dried fruits and walnuts, cakes, pies, tarts—the list goes on.
It hasn’t been easy.
I’ve had my scales for decades—well, maybe not that many decades, but it served its purpose of displaying my sins in large numbers. The numbers goes up and eventually goes down. It all depends what was happening in my life at that particular time.
When I was working—that is, working initially as a blood bank technologist at a large and busy hospital–the sheer energy and medical emergencies were enough to curb anyone’s appetite. Lots of blood and messy accident scenes will do that. I was a feather-weight, but then, I was much younger then. I did my share of shifts and on-calls. At that time, Fate seemed to know I was new and nervous, so it seemed I worked 24/7 and had no time to eat.
I didn’t have the scales yet.
Fast forward through the quieter, calmer years–until we reach now. And my treasured scale.
It’s only a number I tell myself. After all, a power-walk, abstaining from the toasted fruit bread and eating lots of green salads usually worked in the past. However, the problem of getting older is that one tends to reason very logically the pro’s and con’s of doing all the above. I love my power-walks so that’s no problem. One has to sustain energy to do a power-walk so the toasted fruit bread is a perfect source to provide energy. As for salads, if humans were meant to eat greenery, then we all should have been rabbits.
For the past year—and I can track it to the beginnings of the pandemic—my trusty and accurate scales have only moved in one direction. Up. It could have been the grandkids who discovered it and did this jumping jack thing just to see the numbers leap, jiggle and skip. However, that was decades ago too. The scales no longer stayed at the number. It seemed to bound to the next line and then the nexst line until you looked to see if someone had added their foot on the scale too.
In my defence, I can only state that if we didn’t have to self-isolate and/or stay in our own small bubble, I wouldn’t have this scale problem at all. Google-search can burst forth with a ton of recipes if you’re idly searching for meal or dessert ideas. Pop in an idea and bingo, an avalanche of recipes appears on your screen. And in case the text recipes don’t make sense, the cook/chef thoughtfully provides you with the Youtube version so you can actually see the results. Unfortunately, being a dedicated foodies I have that talent of reading the recipe and knowing what it would taste like.
So my advice is this. Don’t step on any scales. In my case, it brings unwanted news. Find an exercise you enjoy–mine is power-walking or just a leisurely long walk. My brain tells me to avoid bakeries and coffee bars with their displays of goodies, but my feet haven’t caught on yet. All the walking routes go past delicious places.
Thinking positively, I’ve decided that as long as I’m feeling good, am staying healthy and keeping safe, the scales should be the least of the worries. Keeping to that positive note, perhaps by Spring, the numbers on the scale have dropped and moved in the other direction and that this pandemic has almost disappeared. Besides Winter is approaching and like the bears preparing for hibernation, humans need a source of extra fat to survive too.
As BC’s Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Bonnie Henry often says: Be Calm, Be Kind and Be Safe.
AND toss out that darn scale.