These aren't for me...

So it's conference season and I've been away quite a bit. Sorry for my inconsistent posting...So how have I been doing separated from the accountability of the blogosphere? Not so hot. I actually gained a pound this week and I still need to high tail it over to Chubby Chic's to post my sad news on the Christmas Challenge page. Can't say I'm surprised given the travel, but I know that a lot of people manage to make healthy choices on the road, so no excuses!

That's not to say that I pushed my goals completely out of my mind. As a matter of fact, when I know I'm not doing what I should do, my goals are even more present in my mind than usual, constantly beating just below the surface like Poe's tell-tale heart.

That was my frame of mind when I walked into the grocery store with the express purpose of buying cookies. I'd promised to bring oatmeal cookies to a bake sale and the ones I had baked had become little ebony disks in our cheap oven. (You'd think that the thing I'd miss the most about living with my parents would be my parents, but it's actually thoughts of my mother's cookware that cause me to get all sentimental and misty eyed from time to time).

I was on my lunch and in a hurry because the first store I went to didn't have any cookies in their bakery section, so I rushed past cases of soda and displays filled with Halloween Candy and went directly to the cookies with the urgency of someone on one of those televised shopping sprees. I scooped up about five boxes in a variety of flavors and hurried to the check out.

Standing there, feeling the judgemental gazes of my fellow patrons, I began to feel self conscious about my purchases. Maybe I should have bought some apples or some broccoli to demonstrate that I had well-rounded tastes. Maybe I should have grabbed some novelty birthday hats so I could pretend that I was bringing the cookies to a party. I felt so cliche: The fat girl buying 8 dozen cookies. I was certain the woman next to me looked at her husband as if to say, "Well, no wonder why she's fat!"

I considered actually striking up a conversation with someone in line and telling them loudly about the bake sale and explaining that I'd lost 50 pounds. "Wow," they'd say, "Fifty pounds you say? That's something else. Hey Alice, this girls lost fifty pounds. We were wrong to think she's going to go sit in a closet and eat all those cookies!" Then I could nod and say, "these aren't for me."

Then I realized, I was sandwiched between a man who was literally purchasing 35 boxes of spaghetti and 12 cans of Spam and a woman who kept harassing her husband about how much she had to use the rest room, but who refused to use the bathroom 12 feet away.

"I have to piss, George. I'm going to call the manager if this kid doesn't hurry up!" she kept saying.

Why do I care what they or anyone else thinks? What does their judgement do to me? And why do I automatically assume that I'm even on their radar? Just because I'm a people watcher doesn't me everyone else is. It should be enough that I know what I've accomplished and that my body is healthier as a result. Maybe if I spent half as much time planning out my healthy choices as I do rehearsing imaginary conversations, I'd have lost weight this week!