I got some bad news this weekend. And then some worse news. And then some conflicting good news.
On Saturday – my official weigh-in day, I weighed in at 362.2 pounds. That’s a one pound weight gain, and I was not a happy man at that news. But I managed to be philosophical about it. After all, I’d eaten a lot of cake and ice cream last week, and wasn’t wildly good with my calorie intake goal. So, in the grand scheme of things, a one pound gain wasn’t the end of the world. It was just an incentive to knuckle down and work harder for the coming week.
That day, we went to a pumpkin farm with my in-laws and my neices and nephew. A good time was had by all, and my legs were extremely sore from walking. I walk a lot during the day, but it’s really rare for me to walk two and a half miles pretty much non-stop. My life is fairly sedentery outside of exercise, after all. And then we went back to my in-laws’ house for cupcakes and ice cream, to celebrate my son’s birthday with his grandparents. Thanks to that, I went over my calorie budget by nearly five hundred calories (ice cream has a lot of calories…).
Curious after all of this, I stepped on the scales before I went to bed. The scale read 364.6 pounds. I scratched my head, attributed the extra 2.6 pounds to the food in my gut, and went to bed. The next morning, I decided to check once more. This time, it registered 357 point something. At this point, I decided the scale was trolling me. But I checked again today, out of curiousity, and it came in at 355 point something.
At this point, I’m not certain what to think. Probably the best thing to do would be to just stop weighing myself, and wait until Saturday and my next official weigh-in. Still, I can’t help but hope that the 355 figure is the accurate one.