I almost never step on the scale. I refuse to, unless it's first thing in the morning, after the first pee of the day, I've pooped recently and I'm guaranteed the lowest possible number. And still, I've mentioned here before how that number never, ever changes.

So anyway, since perfect scale conditions are usually met at 4:30 am, and since I very rarely remember to do anything at 4:30 am, much less strip down to my birthday suit to get on the scale, I don't get weighed very often. Still, I have one of those fancy schmancy scales that measures body fat and hydration, too. Since pretty much none of these numbers ever budge, I'm not getting all neurotic about it.

Then, yesterday morning I got on the scale, and to my surprise, I'd lost 10 lb! Dear lord, when did this happen? I was incredulous. When was the last time I weighed myself? Two weeks ago? Three? This can't possibly be right. I got on and weighed myself again: I lost another 2 lb. No, that's DEFINITELY not right. If the choice was between believing that the $60 scale was broken or that I'd lost 10... no 12 lb, then I'd believe I'd lost weight. I got on again, Phew, back to the higher, lower weight.

I certainly don't feel any smaller. And who cares what the scale says if I STILL don't have a 6-pack. Every morning I get dressed in front of the mirror to see if maybe this is the day that I'll be able to see my abdominals. I flex and twist this way and that, try to find the perfect ratio of shadow to light, and still, no 6-pack. This must be karma for never caring if I had boobs when I was a teenager. I can feel that it's in there, I poke at it all the time, as if to say, Hey, I know you're in there. Why don't you come out so we can be friends.

Yes, this is really what I do with my time before work...

Someday I won't need to draw on my tummy to see my six pack. And when that day comes, I will take my shirt off and never put it back on again.

This week's poll

Last week's poll on new year's resolutions barely warents mentioning. Seven people voted. Of those seven people, one wanted only to lose weight, one wanted only to compete in a certain event, and the rest of us wanted to do both. There was one vote for quitting something, and since that one person was me, and I actually quit that something almost 4 months ago, it hardly counts. Bleh. Let's see if I can spark a little more controversy and feedback this week.

Since last week we learned we all share the same goals of trimming down and getting faster in 2008, this post is about fitness "myths" (myths in quotation marks, because I'm sure that some of you will have my head on a platter for questioning some of the following Fitness Facts). But first, a little bit of an anecdote to get us all warmed up.

I haven't had a scale since I left Spain, and even then weight was measured in kilograms, so I haven't had an accurate idea of how much I weigh in years. Ever since the freshman 15, though (which I gained my freshman year in high school), I've been pretty much the same weight: 130. When I'm working out, I'm a trimmer 130. When I'm being a lazy slob, I'm a softer, flabbier 130. I could be standing on the moon and I'd weigh 130 lb. But since I've been home I've been training a lot and really watching what I eat. I thought for sure that after 3 1/2 months of this I would have lost at least 5 pounds. Probably more like 10. Heck, as long as we're pulling numbers out of our ass, I'd lost 20 whole pounds running around in the cold. Anyway, my point is, I know I'm skinnier. After a crappy day at work today I put on some workout clothes and a jacket I haven't worn in awhile and started to pack up to go work off my anger in the weight room. "Wow, in that outfit you can really tell how much weight you've lost," said my mom. Keep in mind that in my absence, even if it's only 2 hours, my mom always thinks I weigh 40 lb more than I do. (That's 170 lb., if you haven't done the math in your head.) I would come home from college at the fat 130 and she would say I looked like I lost weight. The clothes she buys me fit me like a tent. Anyway, mom thinks I'm so skinny. I tried to ignore the fact that my mom was staring at my ass and drove to the gym where I went straight to the weight room. I mean the real weight room, the one with the barbells and collars and scary muscle men, not the room with all the slick weight machines. I worked every muscle between my shoulders and my butt (plus some extra posterior chain work). It was the first time I've lifted weights since Thanksgiving, and the time before that might have been in 2005. That done, I go down to the locker room, already starting to feel sore, and what do I see sitting there innocently in the corner, but a scale. Nothing would make me feel better after a really shitty day at work than to find out that I suddenly weigh 110 lb. So I take a pee, strip down, and step on the scale, confident and feeling more light-hearted than I have ever felt stepping on a scale in my life. I looked down and saw...
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... a zero. Okay, I'd done it wrong. I re-tared the scale and stepped back on. It did that jumping around thing it does 120 (oh please, oh please!), 134 (oh god no!), 122 (go back down!), 128 (please tell me you're not done going back down yet!). When the numbers had stopped blinking and finally settled on a number, I couldn't believe my eyes. It showed...
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One Hundred and Twenty Nine Point Eight Pounds! You've gotta be fucking kidding me! I have lost a grand total of .2 pounds since I came home. That's like the weight of a baby carrot. And don't give me any of that bullshit about it being the end of the day and water weight and bowel movements and wearing my 10-lb underwear. I know about all that stuff, I am the QUEEN of rounding down on scales. I'm pretty sure I didn't have to take a 10-lb crap, and I'd left my 10-lb underwear at home today, so that was actually some kind of body mass.

So this week's poll question is: Which is the biggest crock of shit:
A) (said in the high-pitched voice of a peppy female friend named Kimmy) "Don't worry, you really are getting thinner. It's just that muscle weighs more than fat. You look great!"
B) (said in the voice of a wiry strung-out distance freak named Ben) "Dude, a triathlete has no place in the weight room. That shit'll slow you down. Makes you bulky. Go do some intervals."
C) (said in the squeaky, whiny voice of a Paris Hilton protégée named Chrissy) "OMG! Carbs are like soooooooooo bad for you. They like make you hella fat like hella quick. I'll never touch another carb as long as I live. BFF!" (You may insert a similar speech by Kimmy about protein or fats and vote for option C as well).
D) (said in the voice of an eighties aerobics instructor named Tammy with leg warmers and a terrycloth headband) "Cardio is the way to lose weight. You want to always stay at under 70% of your maximum heart rate, or what is called your fat burning zone. If you go any faster you'll just build big, ugly, bulky muscle. Ben from option B can tell you about how bad muscles are."

As usual, you can vote more than once.