Not to put too fine a point on it for you but it’s just a week in.
I suffered and starved and made myself and everyone around me miserable last week. I gave up the cookies and candy, the heaping plates of mashed potatoes and stuffing and the buckets of adult beverages I had been enjoying over the Holidays. Now I am Mister Carrot stick and not too many of those. I write down every morsel I stick in my face and believe you me I will not be running out of ink real soon.
I have struggled my carcass out of bed and trudged out into the freezing morning to the chamber of horror we call the gym. I have tortured my flabby muscles until even breathing brings reminders of how out of shape I am.
The net results? Mixed at best. I certainly feel better…at least I did after the first few days. The first day without was a very dark day indeed. Day two was somewhat better. Now into day eight I can say it’s just unbearable, not cause to be put on suicide watch. But for the scale I would think I am making progress. It sits there and laughs at me. All this effort and denial and I have not lost an ounce. My long suffering wife who has the patience of a saint with all this silly self improvement just sighs and mutters something about how some things never change.
I have a cartoon on the fridge. It shows a woman standing on a bathroom scale looking down and pointing a revolver at the cussed thing.
I know exactly how she feels.
