The Other Side of the Scale

Dearest Rachel –

Monday morning, which is bad enough even without a job to go to, and I totter over to the bathroom; more specifically, the bathroom scale. Ever since Daniel and I got home from this last cruise, I’ve backslid to the point where I’m nearly pushing two-forty again. Granted, since getting home, I’ve only been to the gym once, and that was upon confronting a “239.5” staring back at me from below, so I can imagine I felt rather obligated to do something about that, whether I wanted to or not.

And yesterday was not one that helped my cause, either, thanks to all-you-can-eat sushi to celebrate Daniel’s (belated) birthday. In my defense, I didn’t let myself get full to the point of nearly being sick, like several of the others at the table discovered they had as they were attempting to plow through the desserts we had ordered before the kitchen closed. At the same time, what constitutes “comfortably full” for me tends to be a much larger quantity that for the rest of the gang (except possibly Logan). Moreover, several hours later, once the girls had gone home (or wherever it is they go after they left the house – Erin was supposedly going to meet another friend to go running, but the wind was kicking up outside and there seemed to be threat of rain out there. Then again, the marathon she’s training for will happen regardless of that day’s weather, so I suppose she has to inure herself to that, too), my sweet tooth was acting up, so I went to the kitchen, pulled out a half-empty pint of dark chocolate ice cream from the freezer, and polished it off.

Hey; it’s dark chocolate; I’ve been reliably informed that it’s good for people. Shouldn’t it be good for me, too?

Not that kind of good, huh?

Well, anyway, despite eventually seeing damp spots on the pavement once I went outside later on – I can only assume it rained during the night, like in Camelot – I woke up shortly after five-thirty this morning to a blaze of light streaming in from behind me. The rising sun was out in full force, trying its level best to make Monday morning look nice for all those who have to go out into it… which includes me. Not because I have any assignments to deal with – on the contrary, especially at this point, deep into the month – but I do need to get out and get a few things done, if only labelling an Ideogram4 LoRA dataset of your old photos (although it may not be of any use in making video; the A.I. options out here are getting more vast, but now I’m getting lost as to what system accomplishes what task).

But first, since I was up as early as I was, I thought I might as well get on the scale and see what the damages from yesterday’s activity might be. Not that I don’t check myself every morning already (unless I’m on a cruise; there’s literally no point, as you can stand on a scale and watch your weight vary by as much as twenty pounds from top to bottom), but after yesterday’s repast – and second dessert; what do I think I am, a hobbit? – I was dreading the number I might see, more than I was the fact that Monday itself was upon me.

I got on… to see “236.0”.

Not great – I’ve been in the low two-teens before, and my (impossible) dream goal would be to reattain my high school weight of 165 – but a darn sight better than I expected to be at, that’s for sure. It’s not good to be over my license weight, but it’s better than the two-forty I was expecting to be dealing with. These numbers look so much better when you know you’re coming from the other side of the scale.

On the other hand, it wasn’t enough for me to rest on my laurels, either. I’d been planning to hit the gym in the event that I’d tipped the scales at two-forty (or even two-thirty-nine, my previous high since returning home), but after a short internal debate, I decided I’d best still put myself through my paces, and get back into that routine, now that I wasn’t walking a quarter mile (and four flights of stairs) to get to breakfast.

Easier said than done, though; while on Friday, managed to get myself walking at speeds up to 4.6 mph, when I tried to ratchet that up to 4.8 mph today, I found myself having to pause for a couple of minutes every time I’d burnt off a hundred calories or so (which amounted to a little more than four minutes at speed, and two minutes of rest) for the last couple of miles of walking, in order to bring my heart rate down from the mid-160s. I think I’m going to have to be a little more gentle about my workouts going forward.

I was a little dizzy as I walked home; the pleasant type, where you sort of know you’re not on the verge of pitching over, but just ever so slightly light-headed. I don’t know if that’s what’s referred to as a ‘runner’s high,’ but it wouldn’t surprise me if it was. On the other hand, it was an exhausting effort to get there.

Worse yet was when I was about to shower off; standing up to get into the stall left me with a pain whose source I couldn’t ascertain. Was it my hip, or my knee? Either way, it wasn’t pleasant – although I wonder if the initial dizziness was my body trying to cover that pain up by flooding me with… endorphins, is that what they’re called? Anyway, when they wear off, it’s quite the crash.

Still, once I was done rinsing off the sweat at all, I was back down beneath my license weight again, having lost three pounds of water weight from the exertion. I’ll keep you posted as to how well that sticks, but for now, I guess I can take this as progress. But I’m probably not going to push myself as hard for the next couple of days, especially since the weather’s about to test the triple-digit limit; you can only last so long out in that, you know.

With that being said, I’ll ask you to keep an eye on me, and wish me well; I’m going to need it.