Weekly Weigh In #7: Under Pressure

This week, I woke up very early Monday morning to go weigh in.  I have this theory that I weigh the absolute least first thing in the morning, right after I go to the bathroom.  It's not really true, but it's what I think.


I was rushing around, grabbing things like a crazy person, spilling coffee, and locking doors when I realized it was only 6:45am and I needed to chill out.  But I couldn't.  It was a weigh-in day, and I always get a bit nuts on weigh-in day.

I climbed into my car, and turned it on.  As I backed out of the driveway, I noticed this new little lighted icon was illuminated on my dash.  It looked strange - part circle, but bumpy on the bottom, with an angry exclamation point in the middle.  What the hell is this?!  Is my car ok?  What does that mean?  I have had the car less than a year, and this icon was new - and freaking me out.  By now, I was on the highway, and didn't feel anything weird in my car's ability to drive, so I kept going.  But I was nervous.  And I didn't need this on weigh-in day, because I was already nervous.

I was expecting to see this - but the tires were fine.
So confusing!

I parked the car outside the doctor's office and pulled the manual out of the glove box.  Lo and behold - the icon means "low tire pressure."  What?  What the heck caused this?  Was it the extreme heat?  Which tire was in trouble?  Did I drive over a nail at work?  Did someone slash my tires?  (No, that's silly.)  What was going on?  Seventeen million things went through my brain as I walked around the car in the parking lot, inspecting the tires with the same kind of visual detail I use on a painting in a museum.  Nothing.  Not even a bump.  Hmph.

I may be slightly exaggerating.

Now quite frazzled, at barely 7am on a Monday, I crossed the parking lot and tried to calm myself.  I strode into the building feeling frayed around the edges, but reminding myself that I had a good week - I stuck to my diet very well, in fact.  I filled out my paperwork and waited to be called - to go behind "the door."  I have mixed feelings about "the door," because it's ominous - waiting to be called is nerve-racking.  My thoughts bounce among the same things every week:  Did I lose?  Am I right to feel confident?  What if I didn't?  I'd have spent a whole week drinking shakes and NOT eating delicious, wonderful things and it would have been for NOTHING!  These thoughts make my pulse race, which is not good since they also take my blood pressure when I visit.   


I removed my watch, my lightweight scarf - I almost removed my wedding rings, hoping it would help.  And I always do this.  


When "the door" opened, Casey smiled and said, "Come on back, Niki."  I like Casey.  A lot.  My blood pressure dropped a little.  I climbed on the scale, and exhaled.  (Every little bit helps.)  Here's what it said:

Weight:  242

1 lb. lost

26 lbs. lost total.

I was crushed.

If this were a movie, it would have been one of those dramatic shots where the camera zooms in on my face, and the background zips away as tense, orchestral music plays a minor chord.  Eyes wide, I would have let out a slow motion "noooooooooo!"  I know my life isn't a movie, but this is what happened in my cinematic imagination.  And then, I immediately felt sad, angry and totally deflated inside.

Casey smiled and asked me to come into the exam room.  As I sat down and readied my flabby upper arm for the blood pressure cuff, I must have looked as befuddled as I was.  I explained that I had all my product, didn't drink or eat anything I shouldn't have, and most of all, that I was disappointed because I'm supposed to lose 3-5 lbs. on this diet each week.  After all, isn't that the point of a very low calorie meal replacement diet?  To lose quite a bit of weight, faster than the traditional way?  No, my friends, one pound was not a reason to celebrate for me, and I was upset.  I was not going through the hell of not eating for a measley one pound.

Casey listened thoughtfully to me, and then said that there are many reasons why this happens.  The first is very simple:  women's bodies move in cycles, and at times we hold more fluid.  Because of a surgical procedure some years ago, I no longer have the same kind of "cycle" as most women my age, so I've lost track of what my monthly cycle actually is.  Could this be one of those weeks?

Other reasons include not drinking enough water, having too much coffee, and the normal cycle of hitting a plateau from time to time.  I immediately scanned my memory for these reasons:  Did I have enough water?  (Probably not.)  Did I have too much coffee?  (I don't think so.)  Was it a plateau?  (No idea.)

Casey then said something that was so revolutionary, I thought she was lying:

"There are other ways to measure success than on the scale."

What?  Are you kidding?  What are those?!?

She's right.  My clothes are getting way too big.  My energy level is way up.  I feel wonderful most of the time.  These are the bits of evidence that tell me I am being successful, even when I have a bad week on the scale.  I thank sweet heaven for Casey because she pointed them out.  My crazy brain would NOT have come to these conclusions on its own, especially while fresh from the sting of disappointing weight loss.

We finished talking, and I glued on a smile and said something positive and funny so she wouldn't worry about me.  I got my product, and drove to work feeling crappy.  I let it affect my day for awhile, and never really shook it off.  And the whole time, that tire pressure icon mocked me while I drove around. 

At the end of the very long day - I was there for about 11 hours - I drove home and saw my sweet husband standing in the kitchen.  It was the first time I felt truly happy all day.  He smiled and asked about my day, and without answering, he saw the exhaustion and disappointment in my face.  I told him it was stinky, and explained everything.  He simply said, "I'm proud of you - you still lost weight.  That is something to be happy about."  He went on to say that he understood why I was disappointed, and kissed me.  To seal the deal on being the greatest man alive, he drove my car down the hill to the gas station and filled my tire with air, making the icon disappear.  It was 10 lbs. of pressure under the suggested level.  Seems everything is losing weight except me this week - even my tire.

Meanwhile, I laid down on the bed for 20 minutes and was just - still.  Afterwards, I felt better.  More balanced then I'd been all day.  And all it took was a moment of quiet and someone willing to help fix my obvious problem.  With a little air, and some attention, I felt less deflated.  Just like my tire.

This is my lesson - when you feel crazy, sit still and let someone help you.  That might be all it takes to get you properly inflated again.