What am I saying? Feet. Not a pretty picture.
But contrary to what you've read so far, I'm not here to talk about feet. I'm here to talk about the scale.
Historically the scale has not been my friend. Whether it's my expensive digital bathroom scale, or the twenty-year old beam scale (yes that's what it's called, no I didn't have to look it up) in the doctor's office, they always come up with a number that shocks me. Of the two, I look more forward to the bathroom scale, because that one is usually off by three or four pounds in my favor. But the doctor's office scale pops that balloon real fast.
It's a number that says, "Well, looks like we're not keeping that resolution again this year."
Everyone has a different way of assessing their weight. Mine is in decades. Not the years, the increments. I call every ten-pound increment on the scale a decade. And here's the bad news: I thought I was in one decade, but come to find out I'm well into the next one.
It made me so mad at myself I had to have some sugar cookies just to calm down.
When I enter a new decade on the scale, it's not easy to deal with the shame, embarrassment and disappointment. Something my high school girlfriend used to tell me all the time.
And it's not like I don't have inspiration all around me. My close personal friend Rich Siegel—Peleton evangelist, proprietor and editor-in-chief of Round Seventeen—has recently undergone a physical transformation, dropping a ton (not literally) of weight. He looks great, feels great and is currently in the market for a newer, less tenty wardrobe.
When I ask him how he did it he said diet and exercise. Like I'm buying that.
Another close friend, the formidably talented copywriter, screenwriter and bronze medal winner in curling at the 2014 games in Sochi, Cameron Young is constantly encouraging me and generously making himself available to go for long scenic walks, where we can speak of things that matter, make fun of strangers and burn calories at the same time.
Walking. Isn't that what I do between the bedroom and the refrigerator? At midnight?
One problem is I can carry a lot of weight without looking too awful. But I can only kid myself for so long. It's a numbers game, and sometimes the numbers just decide to slap you across the face and call you Sally.
Anyway, seems to me there are really only two solutions. One is to give the scale a twenty-pound head start so I don't feel so bad. The other is to let it keep starting at zero and get serious about lowering the number. After all, it's not a lot to lose. I've done it before and I know how.
And since I've been measuring the ups and downs in decades, I'll have to do what Superman did flying counterclockwise around the earth, and Cher did singing on a battleship.
Turn back time.
