April 1.
Monthly weigh in. (I cannot handle the scale more than once a month. My mental health suffers.)
I hop on, look down and lose my mind.
The exact same weight that greeted me on March 1st flashes in front of me. The exact same weight. My scale measures to the tenth of a pound and in thirty days I had not even lost ONE TENTH OF A POUND!!!!!
Ya’ll, that’s enough to send me straight into the clutches of a bag of doughnuts.
First person to say sympathetically “Well at least you didn’t gain” gets a karate chop to the throat. I know you well wishers are just trying to help. Believe me. I appreciate it big time. But ‘not gaining’ is just not going to work for me.
It’s not as if I expect to have a Biggest Loser moment on the scale. I don’t aspire to lose 26 pounds in a week. Good grief, I don’t expect to lose 26 pounds in a month. (Although, trust me. I’ll take it!) But when you exercise A LOT and try really hard to eat the right things, it’s hard to accept that a few days of bad choices during spring break can erase all your hard work.
But the truth is that my hard work wasn’t erased. I’m stronger now than I was in March. My clothes fit better. And I keep noticing these weird things sticking out of my upper back. (Apparently I have shoulder blades. Who knew?)
So in desperation, I did what all dieters do when the scale turns against us. I went for the tape measure. For some reason I had my measurements from the day I started working out last August. (I am nothing if not optimistic.) And here are some numbers that actually mean something. 20 inches. I have lost more than a foot and a half of real, measurable flesh, fat, whatever.
So I’m putting the bag of dougnuts on indefinite hold.
Good riddance March.
Alright April… let’s do this.
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