Yesterday, I crashed. Hard. The kind of crash where you’re struggling to maintain consciousness at two in the afternoon, and you’re not bothering to fight the urge to eat carbs because some sleepy part of your brain is saying “I need sugar to maintain consciousness!” The kind of crash where, by 6 pm, your lovely and amazing wife looks at you and tells you to just go to bed already. That kind of crash.
I wasn’t wildly successful yesterday, is what I’m trying to say. Because I was so tired, for no reason I can work out, that I just collapsed.
So, this morning, I made myself get on the scales. Not an official weigh-in, but I wanted to see what sort of damage I’d done. Not to flagellate myself, mind. But for the sake of accountability. And, hopefully, to get myself motivated. And you know what I saw?
The scales said I weighed 306.8 pounds. Down a full pound from Saturday.
I don’t even understand what happened.