The Horrible Truth

Today marks the two week anniversary of my lifestyle change epiphany -- two very busy weeks of implementing “The Great Plan of Attack.” And as promised, I have manned up and not only unearthed and dusted off the malevolent scale but also stood on it. Drum roll, please. I weigh, a whopping, scale groaning, how-did-I-ever-let-myself-get-this-heavy, 315.5 pounds. *THUD*

After I revived from passing out, and hurriedly put that-which-shall-not-be-named back in the closet, I started thinking, “Holy guacamole! If that’s what I weighed after two weeks of portion control, food rules, and exercise, can you imagine what I weighed previously?” I’d guess-timate that I lost at least five pounds from cutting my food intake in half, easily. But, be that as it may, my official start weight for this Herculean endeavor is going to be 315.5 pounds because I was too big a wuss to get on the scale any sooner. It could be worse I guess. I don’t know how, but it could be.

In true masochistic nature, I plan on digging that cursed scale out of its dark corner in the closet every Sunday and standing on it -- no matter how much it begs me not to. I figure keeping a weekly total of pounds lost and current weight will help keep me inspired, but I’m not going to be a slave to the numbers. So says the obsessive-compulsive girl who as we speak already has a graph of projected weekly weight loss totals and is making a color coded chart to record the actual weekly numbers.

This momentous occasion calls for a celebration. Cookie? Maybe in the olden days -- two weeks ago -- I’d have suggested a toast with delicious baked goods. Now? How about a shot of sugar-free lime JELLO? After all, nothing beats the sweet taste of getting fit and healthy.