I bought a scale. Bought it and then, even more impossible, I got on it. I stepped on to the vile, evil thing and it had the nerve, the utter GALL, to tell me terrible things. Terrible things! Oh the things said to me by that damnable scale, it’s a wonder that I didn’t hurl it Frisbee-style out my window (though my bathroom has no windows, so that would mean going out all nudesque to the first door that opens and that would be cold and I don’t like to be cold so that could be a discourager…). And yet?
And yet, if it weren’t for the scale and the things that it said to me then my BFF wouldn’t have been able to tell me the lovely things that she told me, like that I’ve lost 25 pounds in the last bunch of months. Wow! That’s a double-digit number and double-digits are a good thing; a thing I don’t think I’ve seen in forever, actually.
Now the other thing that the scale did yesterday which I very much appreciated was it told me that the amount I weighed was the same amount it told me I weighed LAST Monday. That might seem like a bummer after working out 4 days in that week, but honestly I found it to be a mitzvah. Because although I worked out 4 times I also ate fourteen million cheesepuffs and my own bodyweight in cupcakes. The fact that I could do that and not GAIN double-digits of badness is kind of miraculous. I’m not kidding there. If some gun-toting nutbag put his toted gun to my brainpan and demanded that I cite three things that proved that his deity, or any deity, weren’t imaginary but instead actually existed I’d point to the tremendous tonnage of cheesepuffs and cupcakes eaten and yet not reflected on my evil, evil scale as item 1. (I’d point to the existence of the Snickerdoodle Cupcake as item 2, and the third one would have something to do with this thing that T.E. can do with… ok, never mind. But it’s the best of the three. No kidding.)
What was I talking about? Oh, right – the scale and the miracles it has helped to reveal. And gun-toting religious nutbags, although I think I’ve exhausted that third thing.
So I’m doing all these things. Because here’s the other shoe dropping after the good news from The Queen. 25 pounds is great, but I have to confess that I suspect all of those were lost by about November. And that since November I’ve lost hardly anything even though I keep working out and WORKING OUT and I believe it to be just plain rude of my body to not lose more weight even with the working out I’ve done. Rude and also unkind.
So now I’m punishing it.
I’ve changed some things specifically so that I’ll lose more weight, but I would be lying if I said I’m not enjoying the idea of taking things away from my body. Things that it loves, like many cans per day of Pepsi and pasta for dinner and Cap’n Crunch WITH Crunch Berries. (my mouth especially misses the Crunch Berries.) I’m drinking things like massive glasses of milk for dinner and I’ve cut out carbs after lunch and do you have any idea how hard it is to find dessert that isn’t carbs? Cookies! Brownies! CAP’N-FRICKIN’-CRUNCH!
I’m also changing up the workout to not be just my biking, but now including time on a thing that is officially called an elliptical, but which I think was originally called an “Wow, it’s really only been 7 minutes on this thing and yet already I want to never, ever do it again!!!” I also think that it was originally engineered as a method for milking water from human beings for that time when we’re going to run out of water on the planet. It’s gonna be kind of salty, my friends, but thanks to this “elliptical” torture device we’ll never want for some kind of watery beverage. After only 30 minutes on this thing I’m a festival of cold, terrible sweat drips.
So I should damn well hope that I lost weight and will lose weight and didn’t gain weight. (even after a diety-affirming personal body weight worth of cupcakes.)