I’ve been warned. “Do not weigh yourself every day.” Yet, there I am, every day, on the scale. I know there’s a chance I’m going to be frustrated. A pretty good chance.
I know it could go the wrong direction and really piss me off. I’m still waiting for the scale to read “LOL” at some point.
I can’t help myself. It’s been that way forever. The lower readings are like crack. Or at least what I imagine crack to be, minus the addiction, rotting teeth and death.
I’ve also been told many times to pay more attention to my clothes, the mirror (another object I’ve had a tenuous relationship with over the years) and how I feel.
Today was a good reminder that the last sentence is a much better reflection of progress than weighing yourself constantly.
The button on a pair of dress pants finally popped off. Instead of sewing it back on (I can hear the laughter at that thought), I scrambled to find my belt, which I haven’t worn in a few months.
Relieved to find it, I put the belt on only to discover that it’s way too big. As in four inches. That’s progress.
As far as the scale goes … I’m in the 202-203-pound range, nearly 110 pounds less than a few years ago and about 13 to 14 pounds from what I want to weigh.
Do you know where the weight room is?
Another sign of progress? The gym, specifically the weight loft at work.
After finishing several dozen pushups (hell, I couldn’t do a pushup in 2009), I went to the butterfly machine. It hit me that I was doing nearly twice as much weight as August 2011.
Same thing with single-arm rows. Nine months ago, I was lifting about 40 pounds on those. Today, it’s 80.
Arnold presses? I started those in November. I’m lifting 225 percent more six months later.
Progress may seem slow day-to-day, but try looking back after a few months or work. You’ll be amazed.
And, as I always say, if I can do this, anybody can.