Backing Away From the Brink

Dearest Rachel –

The other day, after our usual walk from Harms Woods to New Trier H.S. and back, Lars and I decided to revisit a place we’d been to once before the holidays. It’s in his neck of the woods, but he’s not ordinarily a fan of what it offers – although in fairness to him, he wasn’t aware of what kind of restaurant it was, so he was walking in as blind as I was that first time. 

I don’t know what kind of place he was expecting it to be – a name like “Fat Rosie’s” could suggest anything, although it does rather conjure up the image of a ‘home-cookin’’ style diner (as the old saying goes, “never trust a skinny cook”) – but it was obvious when we first walked in there that he had not anticipated a Mexican place. And while we made the best of it the first time, he made it clear to me that it’s not generally a culinary ethnicity he favors, with his tastes running more toward Mediterranean cooking (particularly Greece and the Levant, where he’s from). Still, the fact that we returned suggests that ‘the best of it’ was actually pretty good.

However, I should mention that the place seems to play up its role as a bar more than as a restaurant, with a menu that barely fills a single landscaped page. Even the ‘soup’ they offer is listed as “tequila”: not tequila served warm as if it were a soup, just a shot of the stuff in lieu of a soup course. I think they’re joking about that, but they took the time to print it on their menu, so we’re entitled to interpret this as we see fit.

For the record, we did not order ‘soup’ either time we visited.

However, we did have several helpings of their chips and salsa. Their salsa is fairly mild, with a rich smoky flavor that both of us found irresistible. It’s been dismaying, as I’ve made my way through this weight loss journey, to discover how fried foods of any sort are bad for me in this quest (french fries being the worst culprits, but tortilla chips are shockingly bad in their own right); however, I’ve learned to live with the occasional indulgence.

And indulge I did, with an appetizer of cheese and chorizo along with my main course. I’d resolved to eat nothing more for the rest of the day – a promise to myself that was easy to fulfill when I was as full as I was upon walking out – but I was aware that this was going to be yet another step back from my farthest advance, in terms of shedding pounds.

So it wasn’t all that surprising yesterday, as I stood on the scale, that I saw a number larger than I’d seen since Christmas: 228.5. Between chips and cheese and refried beans, I was actually surprised I’d managed to stay away from the two-thirty cliff edge – and made me glad that I’d taken the opportunity to work out the morning before, despite the fact that I already knew I would be meeting Lars that day (and my legs were just a little weary after we were done together). Heaven knows what numbers I’d be seeing if I hadn’t done that much.

But as I went about my morning, enduring a call of nature prior to eating breakfast, I decided to check my weight once again, just out of curiosity. After all, I’d done nothing else that would affect my weight other than getting rid of a pound or so of black bile – surely, I should be backing away from the brink of that particular red line, right?

I stepped on the scale… which now read two-twenty-nine.

What?!

I was in disbelief. I checked twice more, only to get the same result. I’d done nothing that morning (that I know of) other than getting rid of a certain amount of material riding around within me; by rights, I should be lighter than I was when I woke up. And yet, here was the scale – the same one I’d consulted first thing in the morning – telling me that I’d gained half a pound over the course of the previous hour.

Look, I get it; it’s a short amount of time, and a small amount of weight. But when it’s edging toward territory you haven’t seen in a long time, that’s still somewhat alarming. Moreover, there seemed to be no logical reason as to why it should be going up – even by just half a pound, which is admittedly almost ‘margin-of-error’ stuff – when, all else being equal, I should have literally dropped at least that much. I was stumped – and concerned.

Needless to say, this morning, after a fairly routine day of ‘office’ work and visiting Dad yesterday – not to mention sleeping in, as another predicted snowfall overnight would make a five o’clock start to the day prohibitive –

– I was expecting the worst when I stepped on the scale this morning. If I was within a pound of crossing back over this milestone on a day when I’d done so much right (yes, there was the meal at Fat Rosie’s, but wasn’t that literally behind me now?), how much worse would I be this morning?

Well, how does two-twenty-seven sound?

Yeah, that’s right; a relatively inactive day saw me dropping back to a more comfortable distance from the brink of 230. I have to tell you, honey, I don’t honestly know what I’m doing. Sometimes, there’s a clear case of cause-and-effect between my actions (or inactions) and my weight, but this isn’t one of those days. I’ll take it, yeah, but I’m still a little confused.

For now, though, as you can see, I’ve got to dig myself out of the house, so presumably, I can get a few calories burned today on the side, even without going to the gym (although I’m debating whether to stop on my way back from seeing Dad – feel free to advise me one way or the other). Keep an eye on me, and wish me luck. I’m going to need it.