Sunday, January 06, 2013
I stepped on the scale this morning and immediately stepped off, looking around the room to see if there was some sort of camera crew ready to tell me I'd been Punk'd. When no one appeared, I hopped back on, expecting a different number to appear. It didn't. 173.5. The last time I had seen that number, it was on the upward swing towards my "never again" weight. I burst into nearly hysterical laughter. This had to be some sort of joke! There was no way that in only three short weeks, I had lost nearly 5 pounds. Especially considering that the first two weeks were smack in the middle of the holidays.
You see, even at my weight-loss best, I make The Slowest Loser look like Usain Bolt. I'd hit the gym for an hour, maybe even two a day, put my nutrition in the hands of my health-obsessed mother, and still lose about a pound a MONTH, two if it had been a particularly good month. It wasn't a big deal to me. I carry a lot muscle and I reasoned that I was putting on more while burning off fat so while the scale was moving at a snail's pace, my clothes were fitting looser and I felt stronger. Sure, it irked me a bit that I wasn't having the miraculous 10 pounds in a month loss that magazines boast of and even SparkPeople says can be healthy. But as long as I continued to lose, it wasn't a major issue.
Which is why my reaction to this apparent big loss was something like this:
Yeah okay scale, whatever you say. But tomorrow, joke's over. Give me the real number!