There is an object that some people fear more than any other. Some may call it a necessary evil, at least one being found in nearly every household. Some people hide it away, believing in the saying, "out of sight, out of mind." Others are so attached to this object that they may as well carry one around with them at all times. What is this item you ask?
The bathroom scale.
Shake your head if you must, but think back over the last month. How many times have you jumped on your own scale, with more than a little apprehension, wondering what the digital readout will say, or wondering when the little pointer will stop? That's what I thought.
As a side note, I've notice many people have bathroom scales sitting out in their guest bathrooms. Maybe it's just me, but I can't help but jump on it. Anyone else do the same? Anyone? . . .
The usual fear that people carry with them when they're about to weigh themselves is that the number they see will be the same as their previous visit to the scale, or worse, higher. I, on the other hand, am completely the opposite. My fear: the scale will show a loss in weight.
I know, I know, you're saying, "Kellan, that is so stupid, you should be happy that you can lose weight." Let me give you a little of my personal weight history. I have never been what we could call fat, large, or even temporarily big boned. As a boy there was a time when I was a little chubby, but even so, it wasn't a bad thing. I could do a wicked cool belly roll. Still can actually, but the 3-D effect is somewhat diminished. Before my mission my weight was around 145, and shortly thereafter grew to 155. I maxed out around 160, which was quite a shock to me. At the time I was working out in the mornings and eating the equivalent of a big Sunday meal every night of the week. I was quite disturbed, however, with the distribution of the weight. It was my first experience with having an underchin. After the mission things changed, and the weight fell off. As in I dropped to 135 in about 6 months. When I sit in a chair all day long for work my body decides to eat itself.
Over the last 3 years I've worked myself back up to about 145, and I'm in the best shape of my life. Just a few months of tennis has toned the untoneable. My body is on a self appointed search and destroy mission, seeking out every bit of fattiness it can and getting rid of it. While that may sound nice, it has drawbacks. First of all, it leaves me dang cold in the winter. Secondly, I've got no natural cushioning when I sit on a hard chair. I know, such a hard life I live.
Oh well, it's the only body I've got, so I suppose I can put up with it.