My fat cells are on the run. Well, they are not exactly fleeing so much as shrinking. (Shrinkage is bad in knits, but quite lovely in one's thighs and those unpleasant overhangs.) According to the scale today I am officially eight pounds lighter than I was just weeks ago. Which is good because my immunologist was mighty happy to see how I had "maintained my weight" for the past year with only a three pound variation. Ahem. Hee. Welllllll... She was very concerned about the coughing fit that followed that statement. I assured her that the cough was not one of the symptoms for which I was in to see her, and I mentioned that I had to get back on track with my exercise program over the past couple of months. After that bit of fudging, I am doubly determined to keep moving.
My girls have a rather unique view of exercise. A week or so ago, I asked Miss Middle Child to go walking with me after school. She looked at me, then down at herself, then cut her eyes back to my face. In an entirely earnest voice she asked me if I really thought she needed to "buy her food calories". Heh?
The daughters (yes, the daughters plural) have been indoctrinated around here to believe that exercise is for one of two purposes. Either one is challenging themselves physically to push past some limit (traipsing three miles with a cane out of sheer willfulness) or one is "earning" food.
While I am a fan of the link between exercise as the best method to manage one's weight, I am slightly alarmed by the theory that exercise is a means to eat junk food. (That's really what she meant.) I suspect this idea to be based on my Monday penchant for Breakfasts of Champions. One week that meant a Rice Krispy treat, and this week it was Girl Scout Thin Mints. Or the reality that I will walk two miles before rewarding myself with a 100 calorie treat (with calories to spare!). While this works for the overall maintenance of me, it's hardly what I want to be teaching my girls.