There are points, clearly, when the only sane, rational response to a situation is to shrug your shoulders and say "I don't know what the fuck is going on anymore..."
Today's one of those days.
Blood was 5.9 this morning, which was fine. Weighed in, and the initial result was 14 stone 12.75...
Which, although of course it's not terribly accurate, given that it follows a Monday, is still an honest pound lost from last Monday.
That felt good, given everything. And given the brightness of the morning, and the pound, I went for a five mile walk before work.
Came home, and frankly couldn't resist having another weigh. Had (in the interests of full disclosure), a brief and genuinely uninspiring pee before getting back on the scales, but trust me when I tell you that over the last year, I've made something of an exhaustive study of how much peeing it takes to move the scales the tiniest micrometre, or the faintest quarter-pound, and this was nowhere near enough to explain what happened next.
I got on the Nazi Scales, those generally unlovely, unloving evil bastard monitors of pressure.
"14 stone 9.75," they said.
"Fuck offff!" I muttered. "You're messin' with me..."
I tried again.
"Nnnnnotsomuch," they said. "Deal with it. 14 stone 9.75."
"But that's mad!" I said. "Just...I mean, just...mad!"
"I only work here, Herr Tony..."
"But...I mean...where the Hell have they gone?" I demanded.
"This, I do not know," said the scales. "I only weigh. You want to weigh more, carry something."
So somewhere, along the path of my walk, I'd lost three pounds...apparently.
In case you missed the subtlety of this point, this is completely mad!
I moved the scales and tried again. They sighed.
"What, you don't think we can do our job now?" they demanded, with an officious note of hurt. "14 stone 9.75."
Hmm...
I had breakfast, and a big mug of coffee, then snuck up on them when they were sleeping.
"Fine," they said. "Now you weigh 14 stone 11. Are you happy?"
I...sort of...wasn't, really. I want to lose the weight, trust me, but there's something entirely vexing about not being able to explain why you've lost the weight. Especially when you appear to have lost it in the space of an hour and a half.
Nevertheless, I'm guessing I have little alternative but to record the weight they showed me three times, and corroborated once.
So as of now, 14 stone 9.75 is the official weigh-in figure - a loss of four pounds since last week (three of them in mysterious circumstances).
Told my pal Mae about this (who, incidentally, has the same Nazi Scales, and views hers with deep suspicion too, despite their recent announcement that she'd lost her first stone on her own Disappearing journey (a stone is fourteen pounds, for any newcoming Americans. Kilos...sigh...I don't know).
"Maybe you lost some water on the walk," she mused.
"Three pounds of water?" I asked. "I mean, it was a lovely day and I walked quite fast, but I don't think I sweated away three pounds of water..."
"Meh," she said. "Then you've got to go with the idea that the Nazi Scales are just fucking with you. Wouldn't surprise me in the least," she added. "Bastards..."
She's right - mad as it sounds, it's still the most rational of all available theories.
I'm going to weigh again tomorrow, unofficially, to see what kind of mood they're in then, and then not till a week today, so if they're just doing it for attention, they can get the Hell over themselves...
Oh, and I guess, in the meantime - YAY! Just 2.25 pounds away from my six stone barrier!
No comments:
Post a Comment