DAY 296: Sinking to a new low

…on the scale, that is.

I strategically do my weekly weigh-ins on Sunday evenings before dinner.  It helps me temper the back-to-work blues as a way to see what my week’s worth of fitness efforts produced and as a baseline for what I’ll have to put in for the week ahead.  I do it at that time of day because it feels like the most accurate reflection of my weight:  not first thing in the morning after a night’s digestion and dehydration, not just after exercise with the same factors, and not too soon after eating with a full stomach.  Weighing myself just before dinner reflects most of a day’s exercise and eating on the scale, but with enough space in between those things to show me what my “true” weight is.  (Note:  this is based on no science or recommendations, just my own rhythms and personal logic.  Weighing in first thing in the morning as most people do feels like cheating to me for some reason, even though weight on the scale is “real” at any time of day.)

This post is delayed from my most recent weigh-in 3 days ago, but it’s happy news that’s worth sharing:  I’m at my lowest weight in 5½ years.  I’m also within striking distance of several Diet Bet goal weights and personally — maybe universally, in the world of losers — meaningful milestones.

It’s a drastically different life from the one I had a year ago today.

On January 13th, 2015, I was in a work situation that was so truly chaotic, it would be difficult to hyperbolize.  I was in the middle of euthanizing a close friendship of 15 years.  I was missing my family after the holidays.  I wasn’t sleeping well.  I wasn’t eating well.  I had no free time because of the work disasters, which meant no social time.  I was carrying around unquantifiable emotional baggage and an extra person’s body weight worth of physical baggage.  I was exhausted, stressed, angry, frustrated, depressed, confused, and miserable.  I felt hopeless and alone.  At no point in my life have I ever truly thought about wanting to die, but at that time, I didn’t truly want to live.  I was at my highest weight ever, and I don’t think I’ve ever been lower.

On January 13th, 2016, I am on my way to being the person that the person sitting at this desk last year wanted to be.  I can handle work, and when it gets worse than the usual amount of bad, I can leave the office without taking the emotional toxins with me.  I have moved well past the death of the friendship that had run its course.  I sleep well.  I eat well.  I protect my free time with the resolve of the Secret Service, and I make sure it includes socialization.  I am emotionally and physically lighter.  I am rested, calm, steady, flip, amused, lucid, and content.  I feel hopeful and supported.  And on the scale, I’ve found the best possible way to be lower than I was a year ago.

This is for you, old me.  I got you.

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