The first number is 165 — I haven’t gained or lost any weight to speak of for weeks. Every morning this number is one of the first things I see. And, in a sense, I’m getting sick of it. On the other hand, it’s not 170. That would make me much more than sick.

1,750 the next number — the number of calories in 1/2-pound. When I was gaining that 1/2-pound a week, this was the critical number. That or 250, the number of calories I was overeating every day.

And those are seriously puny numbers. Tiny, tiny mistakes that added up to 15 pounds over those 30 weeks when I wasn’t being quite as obsessive about my eating habits.

Hanging on

0 — not such a bad number, all things considered. Not great — but I see it as a reasonable compromise. And a reminder that this weight control thing is possible. I mean, zero pretty much proves I’m controlling something. Doesn’t it?

So today I had lunch. It was a tasty sandwich (with piles of romaine lettuce & tomatoes) and baby carrots (from Aldi — not woody in taste or texture) and you’d think it would be filling. But, I’m still starving. It shouldn’t be possible. But, I’m really (even after typing all this) really hungry.

After dithering around for a while, I went out to find a little something (maybe a roll?) to eat. But, as I walked up the street, I thought about the number of calories in a roll (not even a pastry) — and it could easily be a couple of hundred calories. It would certainly be over a hundred calories.

And I started thinking about the power of small numbers. And the cost of those tiny numbers. And whether I had lasting pleasure of any of those other snacks I had during the months when my weight was creeping up 1/2-pound a week.

I turned the corner — away from the bakery and the tempting shops.

And I kept walking.