Difference from last entry: +10
Okay, my idea was a simple one. I wanted a scale that was a bit more
reliable than the one in our house to serve as my “official” weigh-in scale.
Our house scale can be a bit flaky at times; the unevenness of our basement
floor makes the scale even less reliable. I noticed that, in the fitness
room at work, there is a doctor’s office-type scale. I figured it would be
completely harmless to start using this scale as my new standard. I even
naively thought that maybe, just maybe, it would show me to weigh a bit less
than our home scale.
So I went into the fitness room, changed into exercise clothes (t-shirt and
gym shorts) and then hopped up on the scale. I set the big weight to 300,
then started moving the little weight up. And up. And up. Finally, the
balance hit center. The little weight, however, was moved up to 21. Which
means that, according to the scale, I actually weigh 321, not the 312 that I
Harmless? Not even a little bit. I was immediately struck by a wave of
depression. I didn’t know what to do, what to think. *321* I wanted to deny
it; I wanted to assume that the scale has to be off. It has to be broken. It
has to be weighing too heavy. *321*?
But the more I considered it, the more I realized that the scale probably
was right. I feel much heavier, much more bloated, than I ever have in my
life. Before I started trying to lose weight, I was right around the 300 lb.
mark. And even then, I didn’t feel like I do now. I can feel the weight on
me; I can feel it hindering me in every movement, in every breath. I suppose
I could try attributing that to age, but I am only 6 years older than I was
at that point. Surely 6 years couldn’t make that big a difference.
So I stood there, staring at the scale, trying to figure out what to do
next. And there really was only one answer. I got off the scale, walked over
to the treadmill, and started to walk. I managed about 35 minutes before I
ran out of steam and had to cool down. (My lunch was also almost over, so I
didn’t have a lot of choice in the matter.)
And the walking helped. The exercise was beneficial; it helped me get things
into perspective. It also *really* wore me out. I definitely get a lot more
tired with LESS stress now than I did even a year ago. But I digress. The
walk helped me to realize that I cannot get stressed about my weight. The
damage has been done, the weight is there. What I have to do is find a way
to turn my feelings from depression and anger into motivation. Motivation to
keep walking. Motivation to watch what I eat. Motivation to undo what I have
done to myself over the last couple of years.