The young woman hesitated for a moment before she stepped onto the scales in the privacy of her own bathroom. The hesitation was born of a few weeks of inattention to such mundane matters as exercise and trying to eat moderate amounts of healthy food. Born of the mother of all assignments then the post-stress-point lassisitude that had marked her undergraduate career.
Nevertheless, at some point in time she would have to return to the discipline of the weekly weigh-in, the morning wake-up call to row, the avoidance of take-away and baked goods, the pleading eyes of her little black dog asking for a daily walk.
Some time she was going to have to confront reality. Expose her vulnerability to her peers and excite comparisons with her mother who was being particularly good this week. She hoped beyond hope that she had not put on any extra weight during the weeks since she last weighed-in. She couldn't bear the thought that the scales would have bad news... but she deserved it.
She'd told herself that this was the day. Friday. Day off. Sleep-in, then row. Take it easy. Make certain to weigh-in, regardless of what horrors might be in store from the heavy weight of reality, borne out in cold, inflexible numbers.
She gasped in surprise as...
Tune in next week for the outcome...
Okay, I'm not that cruel, but very surprised.
I've lost half a kilo. 500 grams. In three weeks, I've missed two weigh-ins, done hardly any exercise, had some really bad meals and lost 500 grams.
You know how they say muscle weighs more than fat? It is possible this could have worked in my favour?
Six and a half years later
3 years ago
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