I read an article recently that suggested it was better to weigh yourself on a Wednesday. The theory behind the strategy suggests people are less likely to fall off a weight loss regime on Tuesday and therefore weigh less on Wednesday (than say, on a Monday after a weekend of eating and drinking whatever the heck you want). Obviously I wasn’t part of this research – I can fall off a weight loss regime any day of the week. And have, more than once.
Weight loss regimes and I go a long way back. There isn’t a strategy out there that I haven’t tried, or at least considered trying. Quick weight loss claims always garner my attention. I mean, I’m not getting any younger, time is of the essence. Claims of loosing ten pounds in ten days is the stuff of my dreams, unfortunately that’s the only place it could actually happen.
I don’t have the luxury of youth to dream of getting myself into the shape I’ve always desired. I missed the mark in my twenties. My thirties went by in a blur. I spent most of my forties bemoaning the fact I’d let my thirties slide. I gave things a half assed attempt in my fifties, and now I’m facing my sixties with an ass and a half! Things are not looking good.
The bathroom scale has never been my friend – my bones are large (and heavy, even without any meat on them). I’ve got to feel really brave to step on the scale – it always makes me cringe. I’ve discovered holding my breath and sucking my stomach in doesn’t alter the hard evidence at my feet. The scale doesn’t lie – but mine does weigh heavy.
I’ve tried the Weigh-in-Wednesday strategy once or twice but went back to Monday each time. Monday is a drag even if you don’t step on the scale, it’s only marginally worse if you do. Why mess with a perfectly good mid week day. Monday or Wednesday, the news is never what I’d hoped.
Mornings are a decidedly better time to chance an encounter with the scale – you may risk having to face an entire day depressed with the knowledge you’re not the loser you’d hoped you were, but weighing yourself in the evening is like shooting yourself in the foot. Suddenly you are such a loser that eating the rest of the apple pie in the fridge won’t make a bit of difference.
I have a sweet tooth. I also have a savory tooth. Truth told, my teeth like everything. I have a mouth full of chompers eagerly willing to chow down on anything, at any hour of the day. I love food. Life is just a lot more fun if you know there is cheesecake in your future. This makes me a lot of fun to share a dessert with but decidedly cranky when it comes time to step on the scale. I’d like to partake in everything, including doing my jeans up.
My third act has brought with it the realization that not only am I never going to wear a bikini, it’s probably better I don’t. The world has witnessed far to many natural disasters to have to cope with mine. The stuff I’m strutting these days is best left under cover.
The day of the week really has no affect on what the scale actually has to say. I’m sticking with Face-the-Music Monday — Weigh-in-Wednesday traditionally follows Taco Tuesday and that never bodes well for good news in the morning.