Published by admin on 26 Jan 2008 at 08:41 pm
When I got my California driver’s license, I paused for a moment at the weight column. I think every girl does. No one knows what actual weight anyone is, because everyone lies. Further, it seems like a weird question to still have on the license anyway. No one stays the same weight and 100+ pounds looks different on every frame. Nonetheless it is a question that you are required to answer, but there is no punishment if you lie. You can put 85 pounds down if you want. I don’t think the women who input your data would even blink if you had 100lbs. in your box (heh, dirty). I didn’t see them verifying my eye color or even asking me if I really wanted to put blond down, when really my hair is closer to mousy brown now.
I spent some time with my friend, Davah, today. She asked me if I was eating. I have to say it is flattering to have someone question your anorexia status. And I realize that is a fucked up thing to say, but I’ve lived in LA long enough to know that if people are worried about your eating habits, it means you look like you’ve lost weight. And I have. It isn’t a lot of weight, but on my frame, which tends to be pear shaped, if I lose a little weight my ribs start showing in my collar bone area and my arms start to look a little stick like. Rest assured, I’m eating. I had a steak dinner last night. (In what is now being referred to as a possible sneaky set-up, but I’m pretty sure was just an accidental invite Tamara over for dinner because she’ll probably say no, and oops there’s an available boy coming over too situation rather than a planned set-up.) Anyway, I ate weird Filipino fast food today with Davah and had a taco from my local roach coach, resulting in my first episode of heart burn. It made me think I was dying, but then I realized I’m just getting old. And after I spent the rest of the afternoon running up and down stairs making my final trip to Goodwill and lugging my 50 pound saddle into my new apartment (I had hoped to sell it), I went for a run. And it felt amazing.
I stepped on the scale this evening to make sure I hadn’t accidentally wasted away to nothing. I was sort of surprised to see my driver’s license weight staring back at me. When I filled out the box those months ago, I didn’t put my goal weight in a weird fit of thinking it would jinx me to being my then current weight forever. I put my marathon training weight, because I knew it was something I could achieve, and a weight I knew I was comfortable at. And here I am, living up to my low expectations of myself. It’s a nice feeling.
I’m planning on maintaining my exercise schedule and keeping the steak dinners (random sneaky set-ups aside) to a minimum. And maybe I’ll surprise myself and get to that goal weight. I promise I’ll eat, just not as much.
5 Responses to “Aim low”