Moments Over Measures

Yesterday I made a commitment to give up destructive counting.  To stop measuring calories or inches or pounds or dollars earned.   To cease classifying myself as greater than , equal to, or less than anyone else.  To give up the Mad Girl Math for 30 days.

Initially I felt a calming sense of relief.  Shortly after that, a kind of wonder about what I would do with the left-over “thought time” formerly taken up by counting.  Since much of this time was spent privately while in the presence of others (I can count and judge myself silently while multi-tasking), just being present could logically fill in that time.  And I like the sound of this.  Imagine being fully present while enjoying a meal with someone I love.  A remarkable benefit right out of the gate.

After a few hours, though, the urge to count took its toll.  And in the absence of old measurements, what did I count? The number of people who read this blog, of course.  I counted page views, followers, comments and likes.  To be truthful, I didn’t have to count them.  Blogger provides an excellent overview page with significant markers indicating my success or failure at sharing my true feelings with potential readers.  I was riveted. I could even see the geographic distribution of my readership, and spent no small amount of time wondering who had viewed my page from France.  Surely that must point to some degree of success.  Day one, and I’m world-wide.   Mad Girl Math?  In the very worst way.

And while I was loath to force myself away from the numbers, doing so opened me up to something new.    I found a pleasantly surprising comfort in the experience I was having.   I had written my first blog.  It’s been more than 40 years since I first put pencil to paper (but who’s counting?), and every day since, I’ve wanted to share my words with others.  Today I did that.  When I looked away from the numbers, when I just sat with myself and my fear and my silly wonder at what possessed me to throw words up on the Internet, I had a buzzing sensation that did not go away.  My success was irrelevant.  My joy was in the driver’s seat.

I once contacted a wonderful sports/life coach while training for a marathon.  I was having trouble completing my long runs, and feeling anxiety about doing things I’d done before without issue – things I had committed myself to do.  Coach Jerry told me that on my next long run I should avoid thinking about the workout as a 17-mile endeavor.  Instead, he said to run one mile, 17 times.  And as I finished each mile, I was to ask myself:  Do I feel like going again?  His advice seemed a bit like semantics to me, but I tried it none-the-less.  And something took over.  I became present to each mile – to the joy, the pain, the breathlessness, the freedom of an individual mile.  The number 17 lost its power over me.  I ran because I chose to.  Not because my training schedule told me to.  Because I could – not because I should.

This presence to experience, this awareness to what is happening right in the moment, is a beautiful gift.  We so easily club ourselves with the numbers.  How many miles to go?  How many moments before the work day ends?  How many glasses of wine before I feel relief?  How many pounds must I shed before I am right?  But the numbers take us out of the moment, into a dimension that is unreal, unsatisfying, and unproductive.  This moment, this experience, this feeling… this is what is real.  And what is real makes us feel real.

Do we sing because people are listening?  Or because we love to sing?  Do we write because people are reading?  Or because we love to write?  Do we diet and struggle and weigh ourselves because of how harshly people might judge us – or worse, how harshly we might judge ourselves?  Or do we eat an apple over a Twinkie because it tastes better going down, gives us a lift, and provides us with what we really need to feel good?

Yesterday I was lured by the Mad Girl Math of writing.  Today I decided to write by the words, rather than the numbers.  I decided to put one finger in front of the other and move forward.  In this moment, I feel safe and sound.  In this experience, I am immediately rewarded.

How about you?

My Personal Quest to Live Outside the Numbers

When my son was in the third grade, he embarked on a long-term challenge called “Mad Dog Math.”  The idea was to commit multiplication tables to memory, by repetition and speed.  In the end, these third graders were to be able to know the answer to “seven-times-nine” as well as they knew their own names.  They practiced numbers one through 12, each day advancing one number, and completing 24 problems related to that number.  The first round of tests allowed two minutes for completion of the 24 problems.  Missing more than two meant the test must be repeated.  And so went third grade, until all twelve numbers had been mastered first in two minutes, then in one minute, then in 30 seconds or less. They called it Mad Dog Math.  It became all-consuming.  The equations were committed to memory so indelibly that they can never be “uncommitted.”

I have, as of late, recognized a similar set of numbers that most of my friends have committed to memory.  They are the numbers by which we measure our self-worth – even though they are entirely unrelated to worth.  They are the numbers that drive us to run marathons and make it to the gym each morning.  They are also the numbers that drive us to binge, to drink, to spit at ourselves in the mirror, and to compare ourselves to the stranger sitting next to us in a restaurant.  They are the equations that play out time and again in our heads – to no avail, but with incredible importance to our egos.  I call this system “Mad Girl Math.”

It works like this.  I am 5’0” tall.  Today I weigh 150 lbs.  My  body fat percentage is 36.1%.  I know these numbers by heart.  I check them every morning and every night.  Today’s numbers tell me that I am fat.  My Body Mass Index is too high (another Mad Girl Math equation).  I am less worthy than I would be if these numbers moved to the left.

A gram of fat has 9 calories.  A gram of protein has 4 calories.  A gram of carbohydrate has 4 calories.  I can safely eat 1,200 calories a day and lose weight, although this number seems to be declining with age.  I burn approximately 100 calories by walking or running a mile.  If I do a BeachBody Insanity workout, I might hit 1,000 calories in an hour.  I don’t have to look these numbers up; I am not consulting a book or an exercise website.  This is Mad Girl Math.  I have committed, to memory, the equations that lead to an entirely unrealistic sense of self-worth.

If I don’t eat all day, I can save my 1,200 calories for wine at dinner.  Mad Girl Math.  If I work out twice today, I can burn 1,200 calories, eat mashed potatoes with butter, and not feel badly.  Mad Girl Math.  If I run 15 miles during the week and eight miles on my long run, I’ll burn 2,300 calories.  It takes 3,400 calories to make a pound.  Mad Girl Math.

Only 15% of my total calories should be carbohydrates.  Carbs are the devil.  Mad Girl Math.  There are 250 calories in a Snickers Bar.  Mad Girl Math.  Cigarettes have no carbs.  Mad Girl Math.  I used to smoke 25 cigarettes a day, but now if I force myself I can throw the pack away and not smoke at all.  But if I smoke 5 when I drink this weekend, I’ll be happier and less worthy than if I don’t.  Mad Girl Math.

That girl over there is thinner (greater than) than me.  I am about equal to that one.  That girl is bigger (less than) than me. Mad Girl Math.  I am thinner today (greater than) than I was at Michelle’s wedding.  I will be huge (less than) at Meredith’s wedding.  Mad Girl Math.

The problem with Mad Girl Math is not the numbers.  It’s their constant application to self worth.  If I were thinner, leaner, faster, more efficient, taller, younger, I would be… better.  I would be worthy.

And it doesn’t stop with the eating.  I’ve run marathons.  Last year I completed a Half-IronMan – that’s a 1.2 mile swim, a 56-mile bike ride, and a 13.1 mile run (Mad Girl Math).  I counted the entire way.  For 8.5 hours, I computed my progress.  I counted the number of minutes in transition, the number of minutes it took me to swim, run, bike.  The number of people who passed me.  The bikes left in the rack when I went to retrieve mine.  I added, subtracted and measured my worth.  At the end, I checked my ranking.  Were it not for my husband who never measures me with numbers, I may have forgotten to congratulate myself for attempting such an amazing feat.   Facts rule.  And numbers, my friends, are facts. 

And believe me, it’s not all about weight and body image.  These numbers span out into all kinds of amazing measurements.  My son played 8 hours of video games last weekend.  I am a bad mother.  Mad Girl Math.  I only studied two hours for my nursing classes yesterday.  I am a poor student.  Mad Girl Math.  He has eight years of college. I have zero.  I am not qualified to partake in this discussion.  Mad Girl Math.  I have no savings in the bank; he has an Individual Retirement Account.  He is greater than me.  Mad Girl Math.  I make $35,000 per year; she makes $50,000.  I am less than her.  Mad Girl Math.

I write about Mad Girl Math because I know I’m not the only one who computes these numbers.  I know plenty of people who count while they eat.  I know plenty of people who despise themselves for the number of drinks they consumed the night before, or for the number of Oreos that used to be in the empty plastic sleeve they’re holding.  I now plenty of people with greater-than, equal-to, or less-than signs floating continually in their minds.  I also know that Mad Girl Math isn’t just American.  It’s world-wide.

So I’d like to issue a challenge, to anyone out there who engages in Mad Girl Math (boys included).  For the next 30 days, let’s just not count.  Not measure.  Not weigh or compute or add or substract.  No fractions or less-than, equal-to, or greater signs.  No percentages or national averages.  Take a moment to find your Mad Girl Math problems.  They’re out there.  They might even be story problemsz:  Mary worked 48 hours last week while Jill worked only 42.  If Mary’s boss rewards employees for lack-of-balance in work/family life, who will more likely receive a promotion at the end of the week?   Find your math problems, and set them aside.

And in place of the counting, let’s give our bodies and our minds what they deserve.  After all, we don’t need a calculator to tell us when we’re hungry or full.  We don’t need a scale to tell us if we were kind to ourselves yesterday.  We don’t need a chart to tell us if we’ve treated ourselves with respect over the past week.  And we surely don’t need a mathematic symbol to tell us if we’ve given it our all.  And I predict that without the numbers – and with single-minded focus on treating ourselves with dignity and respect – we’ll each feel a shift.  A shift that we can’t measure, but we can enjoy.  We can relish.  We can cherish. 

Join me in a commitment to leave the numbers behind, and I will commit to writing, each day, about how we can do that.  How we can take care of ourselves, love ourselves, treat ourselves with dignity.  I will share my journey, and hope that you’ll share yours.

Thirty days.  I realize thirty is a number, too.  But we’ve got to start somewhere.

Who’s with me?