The Numbers

Like any good math-phobe, I'm not a fan of keeping track of the numbers.

• I'd rather just celebrate all birthdays in grand style and forget the number associated with it...especially this year.
• I don't have any idea how many guys I've dated, made out with, etc.
• I'm not the type to be able to report exactly how many calories I've consumed down to the 7 sour Skittles after lunch...that's no way to live.
• I have only the vaguest idea how many miles I ran yesterday.
• I have no idea how many hours a week I spend online or watching bad television...let's just say it's probably a lot.
• I haven't balanced my checkbook...well...EVER.
• I'm not even entirely sure how many pairs of shoes I own...also a lot.

But the biggest, baddest numbers in my life, I can't seem to shake. This past week, I've started packing my apartment, and the first order of business was to rid my closet of all the things I don't wear (ie, don't fit). I tried on pair after pair of pants--just to make sure. Sure enough, they were all still too snug. Damn.

That was hard enough. Then while I was cleaning out drawers and bookshelves, I ran across pictures from high school and college, where I was all rail-thin arms and legs. Even B. said, "Wow, you were so thin...and your boobs were so tiny." He meant this in a good way, as in "I like you better now." But, I still couldn't help wishing I could turn back the clock, if only to slip my ass into a size 4 again.

The thing is, I love my life so much more now than I ever did then. I wouldn't go back to high school or college even if I could. Even then, I worried about the numbers on the scale and my clothing tags and pinched little (possibly non-existent) rolls of fat and moaned about not being thin enough.

People always say it's not about the number on the scale but how you feel and look. I don't feel good about the way I look, and I haven't in awhile. Viewing myself as thin had been a part of my self-perception for a long time, and now that I look in the mirror and don't see that, some of my innate confidence has disappeared. I desperately want it back.

But don't know if my insecurity really entirely about how I look, or that elusive number I want to see when I try on a pair of jeans at the GAP.

I've made a deal with myself: Run a total of 50 miles by July 1, and I will treat myself to the pair of custom New Balance running shoes I've always wanted. You better believe I'm counting...