I went for a short run on the treadmill yesterday, then talked myself into getting on the scale. It took some time. I asked myself all kinds of questions. Should I wait until morning? I ate pizza last night, I'm probably retaining a lot of water from the salt. If I haven't weighed in five months, what's the point of weighing in now? I could wait another month, starve myself and work out really hard.
On the other side, I thought - well, maybe it would be motivating. Because gym motivation has been really lacking lately. Maybe knowing is better than not knowing. The chances are good I haven't gained it back. Not all of it, anyway. Maybe I've even lost some more without trying. I got on the scale.
I've gained three pounds since November. Not lost. Maybe not bad considering all the travel and upset and sickness I've had since then. Fistfuls of Cadbury mini-eggs at my sister's house while we threw my Mom in "The Hole" (memory ward) as my sister so unfortunately named it. (Why do names like that insist on sticking?) Working two jobs is too much time at the computer. Trying to lighten up on the workouts because it seems I get sick a lot.
I showered and then talked myself through it while I Guerlain-ed up and styled my hair - for no obvious reason at 2:30 on a Friday afternoon. I wasn't going out last night or anything. I can lose three pounds no problem. NO PROBLEM. I'll cut out the nuts. I'll go back to kale. I've been skipping flax, I admit it.
And then I went back to my office and ate the Snickers bar I'd hidden in my desk drawer the day before.