Almost every morning for the past five years or so, I’ve stumbled out of bed, stepped on a scale, and noted the result in a spreadsheet. It’s mildly interesting to look back over the ups and downs.
I started out skinnyfat. After a visit with a stern nurse practitioner, thinking about my wife and kids who depend on me, I decided to get my health in order. The first 3 kg I lost were easy. I maintained my new lighter weight for almost two years. Then I dabbled with gaining muscle, but I went too fast and wasn’t doing the right kind of training, so I gained mostly body fat. I decided to lose the fat and got back down to 60 kg. Since then, I’ve brought my weight back up to about 65 kg and am maintaining it there.
I’m satisfied with my current weight. I have more muscle than when I started, and while I’m no underwear model, I like what I see in the mirror.
It might seem obsessive and unhealthy to track my weight every day. I could see where it could lead someone down the path to an eating disorder, but it has had the opposite effect on me. Looking at my chart causes a rather zen state of mind, something like what happens to astronauts looking down on the Earth from above.
The weight comes and goes. I decide when. The number on the scale doesn’t change who I am.