I need your help (no, not THAT kind of help, as in rubber rooms and straight-jackets, although there are days…).
We all gain and lose weight differently. Some people were thin in childhood and became overweight or obese after college or the birth of a baby. Some people were overweight all their lives. No matter how we gain or lose, I believe we have more in common than not.
A chapter in my book (yes, I’m still writing that sucker) deals with that one weight that, when I hit it on the way up and down the scale, I’d feel it more (both physically and emotionally) than any other. You know the number I’m talking about? Do you have one?
I gained and lost the same 20, 30, 50+ pounds for 22 years, but it was that one number – 200 – that made me either roll my eyes and promise to diet again when I was going up the scale or rejoice and promise never to return when I was going down the scale. Even though my scale number had gone much higher, to nearly 300 pounds, 200 was “the best of times; it was the worst of times,” to quote one of my favorite books (bonus points if you guess the right one).
I’m trying to figure out if I’m alone in this or if more people than just me have a revolving number that they keep/kept spinning endlessly around in. Is there a weight at which you roll your eyes and promise to diet again only for the weight to creep back on and hit it again? How did/does it make you feel? What changes have you made, if any, that will ensure you’ll never see that number again?
You don’t have to write a novel-length answer. This isn’t for a grade or credit, just some informal research. Post a comment or send me an email to email@example.com.
I appreciate your perspective in helping me understand the intricacies of a “cringe weight.” The more I write about weight and the more I get to know people dealing with weight issues, the more complicated and simple the problem seems all at the same time.
NOTE: I’ll be out of town tomorrow through Sunday, so there will most likely not be any new blog posts before Monday. I’m heading to Louisville for a weekend of debauchery, I mean clean fun with my husband’s Purdue friends. They may have graduated a long time ago, but they party like it’s 1969.