I stepped on the scale
Let go of the rail
I wanted to see
The damage to me
Oh, weigh me, weigh me. . . Oops. . . I did it again. . .
(a la Britney, circa 2000)*
I think the last time I knew my weight was about six months ago (dr's visit). And now, a couple of seasons later, I felt a sudden curiosity one day at the gym. I knew I'd gained--the fact that I haven't been fitting into about 1/3 of my wardrobe could have told me that. But, I wanted to know. . . THE NUMBER.
And, here it was, staring me right back in the face.
I really thought it would have been about 8. But, it was 12.
12 pounds, I've gained in just about six months. The why's are unimportant here (and I'm sure I could speculate forever), but, what's more important, for our purpose, is what I did. My options? You must all know them quite well. . . .
Begin restricting that afternoon, or at least enroll in or plan for a full-fledged diet that Monday.
Commit to a more intensive exercise plan.
Get back on the scale and try again (maybe taking off my adorning towel, because we all know how much a dry towel can weigh).
I kinda handed you this one. I did nothing. I went about my shower, getting dressed, and returned to work. My exercise and eating habits didn't change a bit, and I really wasn't distressed at all. Would I like to have seen less of a weight-gain, or not one at all? Sure. I'd be lying if I said I didn't, especially because some of my favorite wardrobe items have been neglected as of late. But, I've bought some new stuff, bringing the mountain to Mohammed, and I'm really not sweating the 12 pounds at all. Because in the scope of what I do and who I am and the world I live in, 12 pounds of extra flesh amount to absolutely nothing.
*Sorry, it's just that she's been in the news so much lately, and the tune sort of lent itself to the material. . . .