Today’s weigh-in Tuesday starts with a bit of a panic. Sure, when I get up, ready to step on the scales, I know that there had been a couple of slips over the last week. Those Roast-your-own Cashews from Thursday? Seriously addictive! I roasted two more batches in the subsequent days, and yes, I scoffed too many of them myself. Plus, there were two incidents of going out for meals – which are always difficult, *even* when you choose something salad-y from the menu
that inevitably comes with a dressing, or smoked salmon, or deep-fried falafel. So knowing all that, I am already quaking and shaking with the anticipation of a bad result, but when the naked truth stares me in the face, I am still mightily disappointed. 88.3 kilo. No change. Plateau? I shift my weight a bit to the left, and *yay* the scales oblige and display 87.7 kilo. But no, I decide that my tricks are of no use. I resign myself to 88.3 and kick the scales back under the dresser. “Must walk more and eat less”, I mumble to myself.
Fast forward four hours, and I am still slumped in my pyjamas, albeit in front of the computer, having already written an article, fielded the weekly editorial call, and worked through my work correspondence. Disappointment and despondence usually expresses itself in my inability to get dressed. But at 10.45am it really is time to make myself presentable. Back in my bedroom I decide to give the scales a second chance. Or myself? Since my first attempt at weighing myself, I have had three cups of tea, one cup of water, half a cup of fruit juice and one mushy weetabix with blueberries. I’ve also been to the loo three times, so why not try the scales again?
My scales are digital – so that I can chart the small triumphs measured in grams, too. And it has a rather annoying habit. I suspect, it has something like a memory: Once you have stepped on the scales, it seems to store the current weight, and every subsequent weigh-in – unless majorly differing in weight – will receive the same display number. So the scales settle on 88.3 again. “F§$%(&%§!K! I kick the scales, ready to push them back in their place, hidden from my wrathful gaze. And then wonder why the scales haven’t registered the morning’s food and liquid intake. My weight should’ve gone up. A liter of tea and water weighs a kilo. But the scales are still stuck on 88.3. I decide to “un-stick” the scales by outsmarting it. I run into my office, grabbing a heap of my photo books. Clutching the books to my chest – still undressed btw – I climb on the scales again. 89.4. Yep, those photo books are hefty tomes. But the scales have been outwitted. I carelessly dispense with the books on my bed. “Now I’ve got you!”, I hiss between clenched teeth at the scales, and step on again. o…o…o…O and the scales briefly mock me with a taunting “88.3” – before suddenly switching to 87.7 kilo. And stopping there. I step off and on again. 87.7. I repeat the motion – off, on. 87.7.
You little piece of sh…rewd technology!! What was that all about? How can I lose 600g in 4 hours, and while eating/drinking? Why do you taunt me so?
But well, all’s well that ends well. I am correcting my hasty entries in my WW journal and am now happy that I have at least shed a pound this week. Or 600g. It’s better than nothing. But there’s one lesson learnt: Bad weighing news in the morning make for a sad day. My scales are keeping me on my toes. I better outsmart it with proper results next week.