Weight is such a funny thing.
At the end of March, my gym card snapped off my keys and was gone for good. It took about a week to get a new card, so I was gym-less during that time.
(Yes, I can hear you now: I could’ve gone for a walk. Could’ve played my Michael Jackson dance game. Could’ve ran on my treadmill at home. I may not have worked out, but I did a lot of work – I finished a 12-foot-long Dr. Who scarf that was three months in the making)
I missed the gym terribly. Working out really becomes an addiction after a while.
When I stepped on the scale after my week-long gym absence, I was nervous. I’d been on this plateau, ranging between 181 and 185, for three months. After a week of not going to the gym, surely I was up a few pounds.
I know, I know, a one-pound loss is nothing to get excited about, but after seeing 183 for basically three months – why yes, I’ll take it.
I haven’t weighed since then (and this was about a week ago), but I’m hoping I’ve dropped a little more. (and yes, I’ve become quite the gym rat again, thanks to a shiny new card)
I basically only weigh at my parents’ house, where they have an accurate digital scale. I’ve been there lately but I haven’t weighed… and now I’m starting to get antsy. I wanna know now!
But I promised myself when I started this that I would not ever, ever, EVER buy a scale for my own place. I know myself, and I know if ever I get a scale I would stay on it day and night, fretting and fussing over every single ounce gained or lost. Checking in about twice a week or so is plenty – right?
I’ve considered buying one here and there, but this was the first time I really, seriously came THISCLOSE to making plans to pick one up on the way home from work.
But I won’t do it – right?
I shouldn’t do it – right?