Where I reflect on health and weight, yet again
I’ve always maintained that I would kick-ass on “The Moderate Loser.” When I can take the time to really sit back and concentrate on my health, I shed pounds and my body starts looking good.
The thing is, The Biggest Loser is not indicative of real life. You can’t just stop what you’re doing, head to a ranch for weeks on end, working to get the body you want. I love working out . . . where you push yourself just a little bit more . . . just one more rep, keep the intensity for just another 10 seconds — during a workout there are hundreds of little “atta boys” that you give yourself, and they never, ever get old. But, well, in order to work out, I need to work, and the reality is that I spend a lot more time in front of my computer screen than I spend on the road, or with a weight machine, or doing situps.
But, at The Biggest Loser, things are reversed.
I’ve written ad–nauseam, about the fact that “losing weight isn’t healthy,” but there’s no questioning that, when you see that somebody looks better than they did, the first thing that pops into your head (if not out of your mouth) is “did you lose weight?”
For a long, long time, I avoided the scale, completely — simply, I didn’t care how much I weighed, and I cared how I felt. And, I’m still of that same mindset — how I feel, how my clothes fit, is much more important than whatever a number on a scale might be. But, it sure feels better when the number on the scale is less than it was the day before, when you’re not really impressed with the reflection in the mirror.
So, these past few weeks have been a whirlwind . . . I was training for the half-marathon that wasn’t (meaning that I had stopped drinking), work had me jam-packed for a full week (business trip included), and then “the sick” hit me. Heck, my appetite still isn’t where it normally is.
Anyway, before the mad whirlwind, I weighed 245 pounds. Two weeks later, after a massive sweating spell, I stepped on the scale, where the number read 232 pounds. I lost 13 pounds over, about 13 days.
But this was not the healthy way of losing weight.
I managed to get back to the gym today, and I just felt weak. I pulled all of the weights way back from where I had been lifting, for fear of overdoing things. I pulled the resistance on the Arc Trainer back from my standard “instantaneous heart attack” setting to the level that I had set it at, when I first started going regularly.
I sweat. A lot.
The scale read 232 pounds.
I can’t help but think that, of those 13 pounds I lost, at least some of it was muscle. Heck, with the way my arms feel right now, I think most of it was muscle. At the same time, I can’t help but think “hey, I’m lighter than I’ve been in a long, long time.” I can’t help but think that my lack of drinking is, probably, no small part of this weight-loss . . . and that, um, just maybe, I should drink a lot less than I do. Then I think of how tasty beer is and I admonish myself for such a crazy idea.
I remind myself that the scale only reports a number.
I hate to say it, but I think I felt healthier when that number was just a little bit higher.
I’m going to get myself out to run tomorrow, for the first time in awhile — I’m not sure if it will be 2 or 10 miles (that will depend on how I’m feeling and how I sleep and what the weather is doing), but I’m trying to erase the thought of weight from my mind. I want to feel strong, and healthy, and flexible.
And I’m realizing that I want to attend all-day yoga classes.
I think I need to start heading to yoga regularly again. That seems the “path to healthy” that best fits me, erections or no.