On Thursday night, I procrastinated like crazy on writing an IEP that I needed for an 8:00 a.m. meeting on Friday. I ended up staying up until 2:00 a.m. working on it. I haven't stayed up that late on a work night in ages. Friday I felt like a zombie all day at work, took an hour nap before going to Pilates Sculpt, then stayed late at the Hawks' afterwards, going through wedding photos with Shweetie for our album. We didn't end up going to sleep last night until 3:00 a.m. since we left the Hawks' nest so late, and even though I slept in late this morning (until nearly 11:00 a.m.), I still feel all internally kerflooey. I think I'm too old for this staying-up-late business.
Today I had lunch with Twin, my grad school friend. She and I were practically joined at the hip from the beginning of winter quarter 2006, when we both started clinic. We were student clinicians together for the autism program that quarter, the aphasia program during spring quarter, an off-site voice and diction class during fall quarter, and then did diagnostics together during winter quarter. During this entire time we also had almost identical class schedules. We were such a constant pairing that other students and the clinical director often called us by the other's name and on the rare occasions when one of us was spied in the student workroom alone, we were often asked where the other was. I hadn't seen Twin since one of our classmates held a get-together in August, so it was nice to catch up today with her. Through a series of unfortunate events - my confusion about our meeting time, PG&E tearing up the streets of San Francisco, and the near-impossibility of finding parking in the Castro - I was just shy of an hour late to meet her. She was much nicer about it than she should have been.
We had a nice leisurely lunch at Cafe Flore and chatted about our current jobs and past travels, but the untimely arrival of a humongous bunch of evil, shiny, helium-filled orbs necessitated our quick departure. I'd had an extremely healthy-tasting Thai salad that could have used a bit more dressing and a tomato basil soup that tasted more like Prego sauce than soup, so I had a hankering for more food - something sweet. We wandered about eight blocks down to one of Shweetie's and my favorite bakeries, Tartine. Even at 4:00 p.m., the line was out the door and around the corner. It moved quickly, though, and not long afterwards I was devouring a gigantic banana cream tart, with its flaky crust and chocolate shell, while Twin had a much more manageable slice of lemon meringue cake. I ate my whole entire tart, but bought another one to bring home to Shweetie.
I wasn't feeling so guilty about the tart, but I did after I got home and read this article in SELF. I love this magazine because it focuses on women's overall health, in addition to having fitness and beauty tips. It also addresses stress management and always has lots of tips for being your happiest and healthiest. One of the articles in the February issue is entitled, "Find Your Happy Weight," and reads, "Wouldn't it be nice to find the weight you were meant to be—one that's healthy and easy to maintain? At SELF, we call this number happy weight, and to get there, you need to stop obsessing about your body and your diet and start embracing the skin you're in." Before I even read the article, I knew what they meant. To me, happy weight is that natural weight that my body seems to always gravitate to. I may eat too much for a period of time, but once I back off with the sweets and large portions, I always lose the extra pounds and consistently settle back to that weight.
I read the entire article, then got to the last page, where you can calculate your own happy weight. This is based on a healthy body mass index for your height, the general size of your frame, and several other factors. I decided to do the calculation, just to see if the weight I have been aiming for is realistic, or whether I am, according to the article, "striv[ing] for the unattainable." I multiply everything out and add everything up. What the heck? According to this article, I need to lose twelve, not eight pounds, in order to reach my happy weight. That's even less than what I weighed right after I had done the South Beach diet for three months. Discouraging? Um, yeah, just a little bit. I'm going to still just shoot for those eight pounds and worry about those last four later. And if I never get around to those last four? Well, I think I'll be okay with that, too.
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