Day 8 - Six Steps Forward, Two Steps Back

I have been told that weighing myself on a daily basis isn't a good idea. To some, it can be akin to standing motionless and staring blankly as you wait for that first bubble in the pot of water you are attempting to boil. I personally find it interesting to see how my body will fluctuate from day to day, and it will be fascinating when this story has reached it's pinnacle, to be able to analyze my progress with precision. So onto the scale I stepped, a week to the day from the beginning of my quest, hoping that the weekend's exploits wouldn't hang a dark cloud over the start of Day 8.

I never did like Mondays all that much. It's not the standard "Somebody's got a case of the Mondays" type of thing. I enjoy my job, and I really don't mind getting up in the morning and heading there any one weekday over another. No, Monday usually meant that when I stepped on the scale, I'd see a higher number than I saw on Saturday. As sure as the sun would rise, that number would be higher, sometimes by a good 6-8 pounds in a matter of two days. That's some serious damage. This morning felt similar, but not quite as bad. Saturday was 6 pounds lighter than last Monday, meaning that the old me could have easily eradicated the week's efforts. I stepped on the scale and stared at the display as the numbers climbed. Saturday's benchmark shot by as quick as a blink, continuing upward, I expected the worst. It mellowed at 256.4, and I calculated the damage. Two pounds up from Saturday, and down four from the previous Monday. My initial expectations were to drop the weight at a slow, constant rate of 2-3 pounds per week, hopefully increasing the chances of it never returning. I gave myself a well-deserved, but cautious, pat on the back.

I had planned to take a few photographs of myself for the sake of comparison, but I kept delaying the inevitable. It was time to suck it up and get it over with. I've never really had the most self-esteem, for obvious reasons, and taking this series of photographs was an eye-opening experience. Most pictures are brutally unforgiving, but these photos told a story of someone that had truly lost control. Thankfully, they also painted a portrait of someone that had turned their life around for the better. (Perhaps when my voyage is complete I will share these "before" photos with the world, but for now, they will remain tucked away for my own motivation. Breathe easy, loyal reader.) My point to you is that, no matter what people tell you, how kind or cruel they may be, I've found it's generally about making the outside match the inside. These photos had shown me that my outer appearance didn't accurately reflect me as a person, and I was thrilled that the time for permanent change was underway.

Crisis is something that had always triggered an eating and drinking binge from me. Food and drink always seemed to comfort and numb any emotional pain that I may have been going through. "Seemed" is the operative word. The food never actually helped the problem, it would just temporarily divert my attention. The issues would normally resolve themselves after some thought, communication, and hard work. And after the dust settled, I had consumed thousands of calories doomed to sit at my ever-expanding waistline, compounding yet another looming disaster. But "The Case of the Expanding Pants" was never thought of as a crisis worth addressing. And if it was, it would ironically trigger a craving for, and subsequent eating of, "comfort food". Comfort food is something that had to be eliminated from my vocabulary. It's again comparable to a drug. Just a little of this and a little of that would make me feel SO much better. No, it didn't. It made me feel good temporarily, but I needed to keep feeding that addiction to keep that "high" going. It's a sad cycle that is very difficult to control because these comfort foods are so easily accessible. Soon that "high" was completely gone, and I was depressed and still eating terribly, trying to attain happiness through consumption. I had to convince myself that I was doing more harm than good with these foods that were intended to make me feel better, but were actually dragging me down emotionally and physically. I've learned to associate food with fueling and energizing my body. Snacking while watching TV seemed so commonplace, and I asked myself, "Was I hungry?". No, I was eating for recreational purposes.

On the evening of Day 8, I turned to the treadmill, not the popcorn bowl, to bring peace to my body and mind. Though my weight had increased, the general trend was still heading in the right direction, and that encouraged me to climb that hill once again, (1.5 miles/30min, 15° incline), and hit the mat (200/30/30). I imagined myself climbing to the tea house at Lake Louise, an accomplishment that seemed so distant but wasn't all that long ago. I was in the prime of my initial weight-loss kick, a trim 225. My wife and I made our annual trip to Lake Louise a memorable one by finally making the legendary trek up the mountain for some tea. A rugged 6km trail, 370m in elevation from bottom to top, all at 1700m above sea level. Not recommended for rookies, we struggled, clawed, and fought our way to victory. It nearly brought tears to my eyes for the sole reason that one year prior, at 295 pounds, I had made it precisely 20 steps up the first section before having to stop, wheezing and light-headed, to accept defeat. One of my proudest moments is now something I strive to replicate. The exception this time, is that the reward will simply be the accomplishment of this feat. The last time, we went for pizza.