Yesterday was American Thanksgiving. I spent it in the company of a few of my many loved ones. I ate a lot of really tasty food, including sweet potato with marshmallow which my sons are calling Marshmallow Lasagna. I indulged in much win, and sipped cranberry liqueur. I ate apple pie and chocolate pie squished together and topped with whipped cream. I made a mocha with whipped cream.
Naturally I expected a bit of a jump in the scale this morning. In my wildest dreams it remained constant. What I did not expect, natch, is what happened – it dropped.
For the first time in five years, I am below 190.
Despite how much impact it has had on my self esteem, you probably won’t see me post about my weight much. There is far too much focus in my culture on weight and appearance, tying it to our worth as a person. I refuse to consciously contribute to that kind of superficial judgement.
Weight matters to me for health reasons, though. I take after the male line of my father’s side of the family. His father had a heart attack at 40, adult diabetes, and other health concerns. My father has diabetes. My maternal grandmother has diabetes.
I don’t feel that I’m sitting on a medical time bomb, but the hereditary factors are clearly there. Even at my highest weight my cholesterol has been great, but I had a brush with gestational diabetes while pregnant with my first son. Weight is acknowledged as a contributing factor to diabetes. So when you see me posting about this kind of thing, I want it to be clear that this is something that matters for my ongoing quality of life.
I have, without consciously trying to, lost thirty pounds since this time last year.
This morning I am somewhat puzzled – but greatly pleased.