This day I find myself struggling with the definition of “success” in a recent endeavor of mine. What do you do when you are receiving directly contradictory indicators of progress – which data do you believe?
As the thousand of my readers know, one reason I began “this blog thing” at the end of last year was because I wanted to hold my very large feet to the fire in terms of accountability for my new “health plan,” also known as the “losing a bunch of weight before we embark on Vegas for my baby-daddy’s wedding so I can wear a really sexy dress and also not be embarrassed by the pool in my bathing suit” plan. Of course, the diet blog quickly devolved into a cooking blog, and after that, a general sort of ranting space. Sorry about that.
However, despite the fact that I don’t write about it very often, I have continued my efforts to slim down, and in fact I have begun to notice that my clothes are really getting big. I also see that I was not actually born with two chins, as one of them has recently disappeared. Finally, several people have remarked on my new appearance, and I am not just talking about Tom who has to compliment me three times daily or he doesn’t get a cookie.
And yet, I haven’t lost that much weight, pound-wise. That has been driving me crazy. My conscious decision was to only step on the scale once per week, so that I didn’t get more wacky about it than I should. Two pounds per week, I estimated, would be a good weight loss rate. Given that goal, by now I should have lost around 25 pounds. I haven’t. Therefore, success/progress indicator #1 tells me what I am doing isn’t working.
But wait! How to explain the loose clothes, the reduction by half of chin inventory, the warm words of encouragement from my secretary, the butcher, and my ex-husband (“you look better than you used to, good for you!”)? I know something is happening to my body, but the pounds lost on the scale don’t seem to capture the degree of change I have seen.
Therefore, I made an appointment to be measured by a charming little device called “The Bod Pod.”
"I am so very happy to be here!"
The Bod Pod looks like a giant navy bean that happens to have a window. Most navy beans don’t have windows, so that is somewhat unsettling. It works in a very complicated way which you wouldn’t understand unless you are at the right end of the intelligence spectrum (see earlier blog re: worst date ever http://postdarwinianhubris.blogspot.com/2010/01/great-first-date-profoundly-bad-third.html, but needless to say, it is supposed to be the most accurate measurement of body composition out there.
So this morning I kissed my husband and son farewell and headed to the gym for the Moment of Truth. The man administering the test was very nice but annoyingly fit. His muscles had muscles, and he looked like the kind of guy that bikes everywhere, even on vacation. By that I don't mean he goes on vacation and gets on a bike when he gets there, I mean he picks a location and sets out on his Schwinn to get there.
After I sat in the giant bean for the test, he quizzed me as I put my shoes back on (no shoes in the Bod Pod! Ever!).
“So, what do you think your number is?” he asked.
“I don’t know, 50%,” I laughed, wanting him to know that I know that I am not as hot as he is and also showcasing my hilarious rapier wit in a self-deprecating fashion.
“Come on, really,” he said, “you look very fit.” I think he said "fit." He may have said "fat."
Well, as it turns out I am 23% body fat as of today. For women and giraffes, that’s a pretty decent number. My ultimate goal is 19% by the middle of summer, but I am feeling pretty happy about where I am. The only reason I am even publishing this here is because I have scheduled another Bod Pod appointment for May 7, right before the Vegas debacle. I hope that by posting today's results on my blog, and by promising additional data on a specified date in the future, I will be motivated to continue making progress. Fear of looking like an idiot who can’t follow through is a wonderful motivator, after all!
This is what 23% looks like on me. On my Vespa. With my kid.
Coming back to my original question: how do we measure progress? My weight in and of itself would not impress anyone as being low by any means, but my body fat percentage and the fact that all my clothes are too big indicate that I am moving towards achieving my goal, albeit somewhat slowly.
This seemingly incongruent set of data has taught me a valuable lesson today. There are many traditional indicators of success: when gauging someone’s career achievements, for example, we may look at their salary, level within a company, and whether or not they have a wide degree of visibility in their industry. But the truth is, unless they are happy with the person they have to gaze at every morning in the mirror, all of that other stuff doesn’t really matter.
The same goes for weight, obviously, as many of us are hung up on a certain number that we envision as our ideal weight. The fact is I am never going to weigh 125 pounds – not without a good deal of cancer running amok in my body or the loss of at least one major limb. I am throwing away the scale and focusing on what I see in the mirror and that, my friends, will get me where I want to be.
Where do you want to be, and how are you tallying your progress in life?
Deep questions from a super-duper deep woman,
Robin
PS: Margot's first look at horses from our trip to Gearhart with the Pinkertons. She measures success by how many times she gets love and affection in a day. Sounds like a pretty decent achievement barometer, if you think about it...
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