February 23, 2006
Ever tried. Ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail better.
— Samuel Beckett, 1906-1989
I’ve pretty much settled on Thursday as my weigh-in and meeting day. Sandra, the only leader I can relate to (she’s a high school teacher and has good presentation and class management skills) has a meeting at 6:00 on Thursdays and 5:30 on Fridays. There are morning meetings on those days, too (Weight Watchers has a permanent storefront in a nearby shopping center), and I used to go over and weigh-in before breakfast and then come back for the meeting. But I’ve been too busy to do that lately.
Weighing in on an empty stomach is just psychological, anyway. So you bring the day’s accumulated nourishment with you to an evening meeting. As long as it’s the same time every week, it should all work out, right? I do, however, wear the same clothes every week, no matter the season or the weather. I strip off my jeans and sweater and get on the scale in just bicycle shorts, a thin t-shirt, and socks. I’ve seen people (mostly men) get on the scale in jeans, thick sweater, and a heavy belt with a cell phone and a wad of keys hanging from it. I can’t understand that.
So I got on the scale tonight. 217.
Just like last week, and the week before that, and the week before that, going back to some time in January.
“You should let Sandra look at your food journal,” said the woman operating the scale. Last week she asked me if I was eating the same thing everyday. Eating different things sometimes shakes up your body and gets results, she said.
I don’t believe that for a minute. A calorie is a calorie is a calorie, and I’m consuming more than I’m burning. It’s simple physics.
I don’t believe that, either.
If I failed to lose weight this week, I also failed to gain it.
I went to the gym three times this week. Last week it was only two.
And I started this journal, and updated another one. And worked on the draft of my novel. All things I didn’t do last week.
This week I failed better.
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