Why I Backslide

Jon-Erik (5'10ish") Emma (5'4ish") Ben (5'7ish")
Maria (5'3ish") Me (5'8ish") Simon (5'8ish")
Not pictured is Adam (5'8ish")

     We Nissens aren’t a tall lot. We're somewhere south of the national average and somewhere north of Frodo Baggins. 

     When our oldest was a child he told our pediatrician that he wanted to be six feet tall. Dr. Melaragno put his hand on our son’s shoulder and kindly broke the news. 

     “Jon-Erik. You don’t get a great dane from two chihuahuas.”

     Ouch. That hurt. I was so annoyed, I almost bit his ankle.  

     

     There’s a reason our family’s height, or lack thereof, is on my mind. 

     Every time I’ve embarked on a Whole Food Plant Based lifestyle the results have been powerful. In a matter of a few months I've dropped thirty pounds, lowered my blood sugar and eliminated most of my medications. 

     But last night Maria asked me an important question. 

“Why do you think you stop doing it?” 

     I’m not sure I can identify the reason, but I can identify a certain healthy behavior I abandon prior to each backslide.

     I stop measuring. 

     Why? The answer can be found in the door jam of our first home.

     One of the hardest things to leave behind when we moved from our first home was the haphazard record of our children’s ever-changing height. There was something powerfully nostalgic about that door jam. It told a decade-long tale of our five children chasing down Mom and Dad. Sharpie scars noted each new milestone. But high above those crowded dates and numbers there was only one mark for Mom and Dad. Obviously. I mean, what’s the point of measuring something that’s stopped changing? 

     And there you have it. For me, once blood sugar drops to a consistent and acceptable level, the thrill is gone. Once your scale needle drops to your high school weight plus a respectable 10 pound “adjustment for inflation”, motivation grinds to a halt. You stop measuring. And once that happens it's like Gerald Ford stepping off of Air Force One.

     The fiber in apples and spinach is replaced by the fat, salt and sugar in enchiladas and the cookies. A few weeks later you don’t really want to measure anything. You begin living in that strange world in which the consequences of your behavior seem distant or unimportant. Of course, nothing could be further from the truth. Someday you’ll pay. 

     So this time I’m determined to keep measuring. I’m stubborn. I’m tenacious. We chihuahuas are like that.