On the heels of the victorious completion of my longest distance ever, I shagged my butt to the doctor for my quarterly checkup. My blood pressure, if left unchecked, runs about as high as one would expect of a person who weighs twice what I do. I’m on medication and closely watched by my physician.
When I last went to the doctor, I had not yet begun to run. Three months later, I am running almost daily and faster than I would have ever thought possible. I feel good. My clothes fit slightly better, but I don’t look much different. I figured I’d probably dropped four or five pounds. My scale isn't working right now, but I haven't been worried about it. With all this exercise, why should I?
The nurse at the doc’s office told me to hop on the scale. To my shock, the scale registered twelve pounds more than it did three months ago. Twelve. Pounds. Twelve. The nurse took one look at my face and suggested we get a second opinion from the other scale, located in a back hallway of the doctor’s office. Twelve pounds.
Jeez louise.
Don’t talk to me about muscle weight. I know I’ve probably gained some muscle, but not twelve pounds’ worth.
Sigh.
But just think how much faster I’m going to be when I drop this fat.
Oooooooooo.
And she’s back.
9 comments:
It's bound to come off....as fast as you are running. And if you keep running, it won't catch you again!
As Granddad liked to say, "he lost ten pounds but it found him again".
Mary
Cindy, I am sure that you have lost inches, your clothes are fitting better. Dont be discouraged it is muscle that you have gained. Keep up the good work.
Oh, and by the way, I recently lost 225 lbs. I left him
I've decided it's Tim's fault. He sleeps too close to me and all the fat he loses jumps onto me.
Luckily, Tim's pretty svelte. He can't possibly unload much more weight on me.
He is kinda hairy, though. If I wake up with chest hair, he and I are going to have to have a talk.
At least I said you're svelte.
Darlin', shooting you would be like cutting your face off to spite my . . . Etcetera.*
*(re: e.e. cummings>
In the deafening silence, do I hear the clicking of keyboards, searching to discover the source of the cummings reference?
No?
Perhaps the clicking of eyeballs as they roll?
Okay, nobody's asked, so as usual I'm going to force it down your throats.
___________________________________
my sweet old etcetera
aunt lucy during the recent
war could and what
is more did tell you just
what everybody was fighting
for,
my sister
isabel created hundreds
(and
hundreds) of socks not to
mention shirts fleaproof earwarmers
etcetera wristers etcetera, my
mother hoped that
i would die etcetera
bravely of course my father used
to become hoarse talking about how it was
a privilege and if only he
could meanwhile my
self etcetera lay quietly
in the deep mud et
cetera
(dreaming,
et
cetera, of
Your smile
eyes knees and of your Etcetera)
-e.e. cummings
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