Those who read my inanities saw my growing concern about a mediocre weigh-in this morning (I still visit my "frenemy" the scale on a weekly basis). Going into Saturday I was down 0.6 lbs for the week, which was OK. It was not quite the "running start" for which I had hoped and planned.
I was a tad concerned that the onset of the Passover holiday would be a wee bit problematic. Having been born and raised on delicious, traditionally ethnic foods (part of the problem that brought me to Spark in the first place), I knew what was in store. And I thought I was prepared. Not to turn a terrible pun, but "fat chance!"
This is because traditional Passover foods, if nothing else, are overloaded in carbs, fat, eggs and salt. People who are not Jewish have no conception of just how overloaded our traditional foods are in various combinations of those ingredients. It's downright scary!! And as a creature of my upbringing, I love them all. Of course, they do not love me. I even stopped to think that its a wonder how any of us even survived until adulthood to reproduce at all, much less for millennia, eating like this!
For the most part Saturday, I was thinking and tracking nutrition here. I had my water and was around the high edge of the calorie recommendation. This should not have been terrible, so you say.
But when the Seder meal came, my traditional job as MC (to experience ours, you would NEVER even THINK the word "rabbi") came to the fore and I (1) partook in the traditional, symbolic foods and (2) did not drink more water. More critically and ominously, I was not (how to put this politely?) eliminating liquid. At all. All that water, wine, matzo ball soup, etc. had to be going somewhere. Uh oh... damn...
So when the guests left and the third load of the dishwasher was running, the temporary chairs were folded and the temporary tables again stored, I went to bed concerned and resigned to the probable reality. Sure enough, first thing this morning the scale snickered, heckled and kicked me right in the butt. Big time!
Did we not learn that if we have nothing nice to say, to say nothing at all? This lesson was lost on our bathroom scale. It ceremoniously announced, in bright blue digits, that this weeks and last week's losses were both irrelevant footnotes of my personal Sparky history. It dared me to lose those pounds again!
So, metaphorically speaking, I'm taking a...
... this week. The weigh-in did not happen. On to next Sunday... which brings me to Das Hill...
When the weather is nice, I walk outside. We live on top of a hill, that slopes gently westward but more steeply eastward. Usually I head west, through flat to gently rolling terrain of our neighborhood and its feeder roads. I have mapped various loops, 2-, 3- and 4-miles long, depending on my available time. To the east is a steeply hilly, unpaved road through a forest, and beyond that, farm pastures. The eastern leg is far more grueling.
Of course, I was in a self-flagellating mood over my weight gain. So, eastward I headed, George Thorogood blaring away in my headphones ("Move it On Over" "It Wasn't Me" "Born to be Bad"...). The last time I walked in this direction (and all the earlier times this year, for that matter), the uphill sections as I came back home were both unpleasant and profoundly difficult. So much so, that I had not headed east in the last six weeks. I just did not enjoy it. Today I found that same hill climb to be considerably easier! And for this glass-is-half-full moment, I thank all of you Sparky friends.
Happy Easter to those who celebrate it. For some, the end-of-Lent brings its own food indulgences I know. For the rest of us, good luck through the intermediate days of Passover (and don't nibble at the Seder leftovers!).
Monday morning update: After a day of careful tracking, and a two-potty-trip night, my weight is back to being EXACTLY what is was one week ago. I'll settle for no net change. Trust me!