Fifty weeks out from surgery, and here are the numbers I care about:
- Weight: 243
- Blood Sugar: 104
Three pounds up. Fuck. On the other hand, fuck it. I’m having a hard time believing this to be actual weight gain, and for the moment, I’m just going with water retention as a possible reason. In the last week I’ve actually increased my activity level and my diet hasn’t changed significantly so…who knows? This is annoying obviously, but I’ve learned enough about my body in the last year to know that tomorrow I could be back down to 240. The human body is an ongoing mystery that I’ve learned not to give a shit about solving, so I’m throwing my arms up and saying, “This is where I’m at this week.”
Also, “Fuck.”
I’m really glad I measured my waist last week though. There are several ways to track progress. And actually, here’s another one: Last Saturday I went to the big and tall store where I’ve been buying my clothes for the last thirty years, and after about twenty minutes of going through the store, I realized they really don’t have anything in my size. Specifically, they don’t have anything with a waist size small enough for me to wear. I went to their web site later in the day and confirmed the same. I can still buy T-shirts there, but that’s it.
I’m now apparently just tall.
So I went to Men’s Wearhouse, got my dress shirt measurements, and ordered some new shirts from them. And Annette, who is infinitely better at online shopping than I am, found a web site for “just tall” people, and we ordered some shorts (the only pair I currently own stopped fitting me at least thirty pounds ago, and I have to start getting some sun on my legs, they’re so white it’s socially irresponsible).
I’m happy. Non-scale victories are definitely something to be happy about. 12 miles on the bike (most days of the week) is something to be happy about. The numbers will catch up with the rest of it.
Here, have a graphic:
