"I would rather be able to appreciate things I can not have
                                     than to have things I am not able to appreciate."
                                                                              — Elbert Hubbard

Jo Cordi Sica's work as a writer, trainer, and motivational speaker provides her an impressive insight into human behavior. Throughout her life, she has overcome great adversity and turned every challenge into an opportunity to grow both personally and professionally. Today Jo travels throughout the country sharing her insights to help others achieve success. Jo writes from her heart; sharing personal experiences, challenges and victories.

When I started my low-carb way of life, setting a goal seemed so simple – pick a weight less than my current one. Sure, I gave it some thought. I considered what I weighed when I last remembered feeling thin, and added a few pounds, since I am, after all, over 40.

I heeded some of my own advice about setting goals that are challenging, yet attainable. In the end, I settled on the nice round number of 150 pounds on my 5’7" frame. As I creep closer to that number, I wonder if I set my initial goal too high. When I look in the mirror, I see more than 10 pounds that need to disappear — I think I could afford to lose another 10 pounds off each thigh!

Later in the day, as I slip on my newly-purchased size-10 jeans, I convince myself that I could stop right where I am. This stunning reversal convinces me my own judgement is suspect. So, I set out to find the proven, magic number that corresponds to my height. Surely, with all the self-proclaimed weight experts, someone must know how much I should weigh.

Silly me!

Two hours, 9 calculations, and 30 number possibilities later, I am more confused than ever. We’re not talking about differences of a couple of pounds; the range from lowest to highest ideal weight for my height is a staggering 45 pounds!

Foolish me, imagining that there would be some simple formula for calculating a reasonable, healthy weight. Nonetheless, I commit to doing the research and earnestly read and follow all the instructions for measuring my frame size.

I wrestle a tape measure around my wrist, holding one end with my thumb while trying to maneuver the other end in place with my pinkie and ring finger. I extend my upper arm from my body at a perfect 90 degree angle, turning my forearm parallel to my torso, and rotate my hand so my palm turns inward. I maintain this pose while using the thumb and forefinger of my other hand as calipers to measure the bones in my elbow. I measure my waist in relation to my hips. I estimate the relative position of the sun to the moon on Fridays in mid-November. (Ok, maybe not, but I might just as well!)

After a multitude of contortions, computations, and profane exclamations, I know that I have a large frame. Or a medium frame. Or in-between a medium and a large frame. It depends upon which source I assume to be correct. The one thing I know with certainty is that I do not have a small frame.

I am pleased; I can cross 6 possible numbers off my list, including the extremely alarming suggestion of 121 pounds.

With renewed resolve, I stare at the remaining ideal weight choices for my height. My ranges now vary by only 32 pounds. Breathing a sigh of relief, I concede that I am making progress in my quest for the perfect goal.

I contemplate plugging the data into a spreadsheet along with the measurements that correspond with each size in women’s clothing and writing a formula to calculate the exact size that would result from any given weight. I decide that doing so would demonstrate an obsession worthy of in-patient treatment. I settle on picking the number in the exact center of the range. That would be 151.

Heavy sigh. Three hours into this process, I am right back where I started.

My next plan of attack is to establish a point of comparison with someone whose shape I would like to achieve. I think of all the celebrities and cult icons. Twiggy is out. While we are the same height, I just cannot see myself at 91 pounds. Of course, there is always the timeless Marilyn Monroe. Taking into consideration the difference in height, I would need to weigh about 140 pounds to replicate her shape. I would also have to attach an industrial vacuum to my head and suck all the fat from my hips upward to my bust line.

I give up on celebrities and consider some of my friends. The one person I know whose shape I most envy is my friend Linda. Unfortunately, this thought leads me back to the issue of the vacuum. I give up on this method and move on to Plan C.

I contemplate asking someone I trust to tell me how much more weight I need to lose. Who might that be? I begin by considering my darling husband. After much thought, I realize any answer he gives will lead us to the next episode of Divorce Court. If he tells me I am perfect the way I am, I will be angry because clearly he is lying. If he tells me I need to lose ANY number of pounds, I will be highly offended. Asking him that question at all, would be akin to signing his death warrant. I love him far too much to do this to him.

Upon further consideration, I decide that I also like my friends too much to put any of them in the same awkward position.

Time to shift gears.

Instead of determining a goal weight, perhaps I should just determine a goal size. I think back to the size I was most comfortable wearing. Already I’m in trouble. As I recall, it was a size 7 and I was twenty-something. Now, I don’t want to cheat myself out of something that is attainable, but I have to realize that no matter what size and weight I am, I will never have the same body I had in my twenties. The gravitational pull of the earth is so much stronger these days!

I suppose I could split the difference and settle on a size 8 which allows for a little more extra baggage in the southern regions of my body. That sounds pretty good; it is a single digit size and a place where by most standards I would not be considered overweight.

Great! I have arrived at a solution; I will deem my goal achieved when I can fit into a size 8 off the rack in any given store. Clearly, this is attainable as it is one size less than my current size. I sit back in my chair, feeling victorious, and wondering, how much would I have to weigh to wear a size 8?

Hmmm... About that spreadsheet...


             
                  Jo Cordi Sica,
                  SPHR Organizational Development and Training
                  jwcordi@aol.com

Copyright © January 2004  Jo Cordi Sica and Low Carb Luxury
Title photo Copyright © 2004  Neil Beaty and Low Carb Luxury

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