First, there was last week, when the scale decided to stay the same for eleven days, because suddenly I was getting in some physical activity, and my body thought it needed to hold onto everything for dear life.
Then there's this week. I'm staying true to my commitment of getting to the gym on Saturdays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays, and if sprinting across that parking lot in a torrential rain yesterday did not prove my dedication, I don't know what would. This week, my weight has been going crazy. When I tell people I weigh myself every day, they look at me, horrified, as if I'm some obsessed nutcase. But you and I both know I just do it as more of an anchoring tool than anything else. I look at it, write it down, and move on. And when I hit a new low, I report it here.
If I *were* an obsessed nutcase, this week would have sent me to the "non-voluntary patient" ward. Look at this: Friday, lose 3.2; Saturday, gain 2.0; Sunday, gain 1.2; Monday, lose 2.8; Tuesday, gain 2.2. My body has clearly been tossed out of its comfort zone, and although I loathe the cardio boards each and every 45-second interval I'm on them, I have to say that I'm pretty pleased with myself. This morning, I feel like I tried to carry a car up a hill, but I'm still glad. This achy, lazy body has never had to contend with anything like this before, and I'm still standing, and I'm still going, and I'm still going to get this done.
Oh, and I hit a new low this morning. :)
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