Oh, the games people play.
Weighing in on weighing in.
One of my stupid goals for this year is to get my weight down to 230 pounds.
It is an arbitrary number with little basis in science or even reason. In fact, it is a stretch goal to be certain. I may have to eat powdered food mixed with coconut water to even have a shot at it.
So why do it to begin with? Well in June, I will turn 50, and it seems like a better goal than running a marathon or participating in a triathlon or some other such nonsense.
My weight has basically been stuck in the purgatory of the 240s for reasons, the most sensible of which is due to caloric intake.
But, there is an insidious game I have identified that must stop in order for progress occur. It is the scale. Too often the temptation to weigh has become a routine habit every time the scale and I find each other in the same room. The thrill of victory when things were going well gave me the false sense of being able to cheat a little.
The psychological impact of getting to a low number translated into a bonus bowl of beans and chicken tacos at Los Guerros.
So in an effort to make progress, my inner lawyer decided to let the scales know we were separating this week. The effects thus far have been positive. Only once out of habit did I place one foot on the darned thing before I was reminded of the restraining order in place for the next 90 or so days.
The urge to over-indulge has been regulated by the knowledge no immediate feedback will be available. The other day I even told Eric not to bring any bread with my Cobb salad at Sonoma Grill.
How about the clocks in your house?
Some of our clocks vary by as much as 8 to 10 minutes depending on location. The ones in the kitchen are pretty much on Greenwich Mean Time, while the one in our bathroom is say, nine minutes fast. This causes the impression for anyone getting ready to go somewhere that once they are dressed and in the car, they will find they are closer to being on time than they thought 40 feet earlier.
Then there is the time change that hit us this morning. Enough said.
How many times do you hit the snooze button before you finally get up? Do you set your alarm for the actual time you wish to arise or for three bonus rounds of dreaming after hitting the snooze bar?
Do you wait until the yellow light comes on in your car before you fill up or even check the computer readout to see how many miles are left until empty? Do you believe the miles to empty on the readout, or do you think the manufacturer sandbags you by another 15 miles once it says you really have 0 miles to empty?
When you tell a loved one (or a compulsively late companion who you only tolerate) a party starts 15 minutes sooner than it does in order to be on time, do you feel guilty? What if they know you do this to them and they sandbag you back in order to arrive fashionably late?
Oh, the games people play.
What games do you play in your life?
Tell us about the games you play at firstname.lastname@example.org or by mail at 410 W. Erwin St., Tyler, Texas 75702.