At the gym I go to, The Scale is in a private little cubby, backed by a wall of opaque glass blocks. That little bit of glass wall faces the pool area. When I am in the pool, I can see the fuzzy outlines of other women weighing themselves.
I have been eyeing The Scale for several weeks now. It has been looming, its shadowy figure beckoning through the glass.
No, I’m only kidding, it hasn’t been beckoning, it just sounded so nice and dramatic to say that.
But I have been looking at it. Of all the women I have seen weigh themselves, no one has run screaming from the place. So yesterday, I took a deep breath and inched on.
Holy Mother of God.
Now I know why no one runs screaming from the place. They are too busy reeling in horror and trying to cling to some shreds of dignity as they adjust to the brutal reality that The Scale is clearly off by about 50 pounds.
Granted, it could be worse. I could weigh 1000 pounds and I don’t. But it feels as though I may as well.
This is going to take for-freaking-ever.
I cannot be like Jessica, who writes a great blog at http://allabouthabits.com/ and documents her weight as well as her losses. Jessica is brave and honest. I am cowardly and deceitful. Even with myself. I could never tell anyone what I actually weigh.
But, hopefully, the losses will mount and I will share those. That is the one good thing about yesterday’s frightful revelation. At least I will be able to see how much I am losing. If I don't die of mortification first.