I did something Thursday morning that I shouldn’t have. I stepped on the bathroom scale.
Actually, it’s something I should have done a few days ago, but didn’t. I knew I’d indulged myself over the holidays and figured the extra weight would go away. (One of the rules of weight loss. If you don’t think about it, it goes away.) But as I walked into the bathroom that morning, the flat white device mocked me as images of clothes fitting more snugly than they used to fit flashed through my mind.
Don’t do it.
One voice of supposed reason echoed in the emptiness that is my head when I haven’t had coffee. It tried to talk me out of it.
Your wonderful wife fixed one of your favorite dishes last night. So what if you had thirds. Give it another day.
But I didn’t listen and I stepped on that scale.
I was still five pounds over my pre-Thanksgiving weight, which was already elevated in an inverse relationship to the amount of Halloween candy left downstairs. And with parties every weekend until after New Year’s, it looks like I have no hope.
My wife would probably tell me to eat less. (Fat chance of that. She’s a great cook.)
I could hope for warm days, so I could get outside and play with my kids, or at least get some exercise. (Granted, I shouldn’t let a chill stop me.) However, keeping the holiday pounds off, like any laudable goal, takes work.
Any suggestions from readers out there?