Scale wars

I've been trying hard lately to resist the urge to step on the scale. The numbers of weight loss and health mess me up, and if I feel I've been doing well and am happy with my progress, then a plus or minus one pound shouldn't make much of a difference, right?

Ha! I'm down to 211 today, and though I'd resolved not to try to care, that number is running through my brain. 211. 211. 211.

I wish I could get some kind of a grip on splurging. I know, for example, that being in Richmond this coming week will test my resolve to eat well, and I know that I'll heed the call of Baker's Crust and Mom Siam. And that's okay - I'm planning it and I know I'll be fine. STILL. the idea of having any of the numbers on the scale creep up makes me want to wire my mouth shut. I'm ridiculous. There are days when I feel The Wolf of COE breathing down my neck, and I'm aware that any slip could launch me back into a bad time. So I've made a deal with myself - I can eat the meals I want this weekend, but no extras. No seconds. No invading the breadbasket (a major binge inducer), nothing I can get here at home (ice cream, etc). That's my way of maintaining control while simultaneously letting my guard down for a minute. I am not the kind of person who can let herself lose control completely, because that way lies a disconnect from my body. There have been months when I gained 10 pounds. If I let myself go now, I could be back up to 235 by the end of July. And that's terrifying.

On tap for tonight: a long walk.