So I've put on some weight.

Not a lot - I'm weighing in at 145.5 right now. Seriously, it's not a lot. I'm not freaking out or starving or binging or reacting to the change by taking desperate measures or laxatives or a toothbrush to my throat - though of course none of those things are things to joke about and I am certainly not doing so here.

Don't get me wrong. I'm just illustrating, albeit with much hyperbole. Because, you know, that's what it immediately seems to feel like when you gain six pounds. An exaggeration of the situation. My clothes aren't particularly tight, though I imagine in subtle ways I'm not exactly noticing, they don't fit as neatly as they might have six pounds ago.

That wrinkle in my pants? Yeah. Maybe that might not have been there without the six pounds.

But still, it's six pounds, and in my world, six pounds tends to be a short hop to 20. I wish like hell it didn't, but it's true. If I put on six pounds in six weeks, that's a sign. I did some examining and there's no doubt about it: I have not been as healthy as I'd like. One too many cocktails, or french fry sides, or yummy chocolate something-or-others. One too many days without consistent running or some kickboxing. One too many days adds up to six pounds.

As an experiment, to gauge things, as it were, I went back to portioning my food out and weighing it against the Weight Watchers POINTS scale and holy smokes - clearly I've been mistaking a half-cup for a serving the size of a basketball.

It's a mistake anyone could make, obviously.

See, what I don't want, what I really, really, really don't want, is to become complacent about the state of my body but at the same time, I don't want to lose my shit over six pounds. But I acknowledge my body's comfort zone, and while I'm OK in the mid-140s, I can examine my behavior and know that this current weight is not the result of genetics as much as it is the result of cheese.

Good cheese, but cheese nonetheless.

So this week I've started some religious counting and monitoring and weighing, just to stop this thing from escalating to a place where I don't want to be, where I don't feel healthy and productive. There is a small bit of vanity, sure, but I'm starting to really embrace the fact that I'm a woman of a little extra girth. I really am. But there is a line in the sand for me where my looks are concerned.

More than anything, I am the Queen of Slackdom. I will give myself so much slack that it seems pointless to rope myself up at all. If I don't crack the ol' whip on myself now and again, I'm liable to find every reason in the world why I deserve to have that cheeseburger. I will reason that the fact that I woke up is enough.

So my goal is to lose the six pounds. I do not know how long it will take. I would love for it to take, you know, a day, but it won't. My weigh-in day for myself is Sunday, and I promise to document it here.

This is the bitch part of maintenance. What to do when you're maintaining by the seat of your pants. Why you have to make tough choices for yourself in order to stay at a healthy place for yourself. It's not fun to do this. I really enjoy my little bacchanalian moments. But they've gotten a smidge out of hand recently and it's time to call a time out. Or I'll roll around in that stuff like there's no tomorrow.

And let's be honest: at a certain point, you start to realize that the choices you make now really do determine the quality of your tomorrow.

Speaking of quality, you all must go read Anne's latest post if you haven't already. She's a lovely woman, and I love what she has to say on just about, well, everything.

Some recipes coming tomorrow. And finally that product review. Stay tunes.

Posted by Erin at 03:53 PM | filed under: Random , Weigh in