Tell Me Lies, Tell Me Sweet Little Lies

As I believe I explained at one point, I actually started this whole blog thing to record my progress. I guess I envisioned something like:

"January 15. Did 3 sets of 20 reps with 10 more lbs. on each machine. Men applauded; women swooned. 6.34 oz. sweat lost. Noticeable growth in left deltoid."

Or some such drivel.

Anyway, you can see what it's become. But in the spirit of trying to keep some of the original intent alive, I will report that I have seen some numbers on my bathroom scale that I haven't seen in a very, very long time.

Now, I happen to know that my bathroom scale is a lyin' sack of spit.

The Common North-American Prevaricating Scale

I no more weigh what my bathroom scale says I do than I can fly to the moon. I know this because I am always shocked and annoyed when I go to my doctor's office and his scale adds 10 lbs or so to what I weighed just that morning. "Clothing, water-weight, breakfast," I tell myself, but I am also a lyin' sack of spit. I know my scale measures light. About 8 pounds lighter than the scale at the gym, as near as I can tell.

Oh, but it's a sweet little lie, and it is so encouraging. I like to think that somewhere, in an alternate universe, that number is correct, and I'm actually somehow really that weight. So I keep the scale around for the little lift it gives me. And I use the scale at the gym for a little dose of reality.

But all of them agree I'm down somewhere around 15 - 20 lbs from when I started working out -- more, if you count a few weeks before that. And that is the unvarnished truth. So, hats off to J, and J2, and M, and the rest of the crew. It's working, and I'm happy. No lie.