Before you pass judgment, allow me to explain. Thereâ€™s a reason I gained more than two pounds over the past week. Here it is: I stuffed my face and sat on my behind.
Thatâ€™s the thing about a weigh scale. You canâ€™t persuade it. You canâ€™t spin what it says to cast yourself in a favourable light. The number is the number. And my number this week was bad.
I didnâ€™t stick to the diet and I didnâ€™t stick to my exercise regimen. I did, however, discover PEI-style nachos. Whoever invented those should spend a decade in jail: Oval, basket-weave-cut French fires, with cheese, onions and peppers melted on top, and salsa and sour cream on the side.
That was Canada Day. And it would have been fine. Except Iâ€™d had a weak week from day one. I went into the weekend just a hair over last weekâ€™s weigh-in, thanks to alternating diet and pig out days. Still, I could have been writing this column with a weight of 203, maybe even 202. But with three days before my next encounter with the scale, my willpower crumbled.
A long weekend. An overnight down to the South Shore. Sunny skies, winding, coastal roads. A strong urge to eat grilled cheese sandwiches.
Well, a new week stretches before me. A new opportunity to prove myself to myself. I did pushups yesterday and today. Spent a half hour on the bike yesterday, and half an hour walking today.
I know this setback hurts my credibility. Letâ€™s face it: betting on failure is safe. The large majority of diets donâ€™t work. Why should the schmoe at the newspaper be any different?
Fair enough. I wonâ€™t try to convince anyone. The numbers tell the tale. This week I gained. Next week, Iâ€™ll lose. See you at sub-203.
This is not an advice column. Please consult a medical expert or nutritionist for sound dietary advice. Eric Sparling is an Amherst Daily News reporter, and former senior editor at Oxygen, a womenâ€™s fitness magazine.