40 Pounds of Salt

By Diana Brent

I admit that Ozempic plays a role in this story, but it’s definitely not the story. The important story starts with my scales and 40 pounds of water softener salt.

As always, when I position the scales for my ritual weigh-in, they yell in their patronizing, polite, megaphone voice, “Please step on the scales.” I do, and the voice booms, “Your weight is …” I am roughly 40 pounds less than when I started this regimen, and I’m certainly pleased, but stepping off, I wonder: what does losing 40 pounds feel like anyway? If I went to sleep and woke up tomorrow morning suddenly 40 pounds lighter, maybe, just maybe, with such an abrupt difference, I might feel smaller and lighter. Unfortunately,  that never happens. Losing excess body fat is a very gradual shedding.

Hmmm. … Hefting four ten pound bags of potatoes? Who buys that for a family of two? Exercising with two 20-pound weights? I don’t have those around either.

“Goodbye,” croons the scales, and off I go to get dressed. But the question keeps niggling.

Now it’s afternoon and my husband is grunting and wrestling with a huge bag of salt, about to open it and feed 40 pounds of salt into the hungry maw of the water softener.

“No, no!” I shout. “Stop!”

“What?” he says, exasperated. “This is heavy!”

“That’s my point. I want to see just how heavy.”

Of course I can’t see him, but I feel him thinking, “She’s lost her marbles.” But he sighs and plops the bag into my outstretched arms.

“OH, MY, that’s amazing!”

But now I’m left with more questions. I know how heavy 40 pounds feels, but I’m not a bag of salt. How does that translate to a person losing that much weight? I know it’s easier to walk up two or more flights of stairs, and I don’t get out of breath walking around a hilly block. But that’s not quite it. Clothes get looser, but I don’t wear form-fitting clothes to begin with. I can’t compare pictures from a year ago and think, “Oh, I guess I’ve lost weight.” Gazing in the mirror doesn’t do a thing for me — there’s no-one looking back.

To my husband, once we were comfortable enough to share more personal details of ourselves; to our girls, once they were old enough to understand, and to very good friends when we could be honest and trust each other, I’ve always said, “You are my mirror, please tell me when … there’s lipstick on my teeth, spots on my dress, colours don’t match, I’m wearing two different shoes. Because either I wasn’t paying attention or didn’t think and bought identical pairs in different colours because they were comfortable, or I liked the style... the list goes on. I can either act on what my many mirrors tell me, or I can choose to ignore them, just like you gazing into your own mirror.

And what does all of this have to do with 40 pounds of salt? Holding that bag is an ah-ha moment. It makes you think.