The 11th Hour Kamikaze

Thursdays have become my day of reckoning.

Friday is a happy day. The weigh-in is past, and the next meeting is six days away. Sure, I'll have a piece of cake! I'll just make up for it by being really good this weekend!

Saturday and Sunday are a blur. The gym is far away, so really it's on me to watch my points. But the allure of the calorific concoctions are hard to resist, especially during a season like this, when fun-sized Snickers and M&Ms offer such a small but satisfying reward. "Just a taste" turns into "hey, look how many I can fit into my mouth!", and then shame.

Monday brings the first wave of "oh, crap." The scale shows vengeance for my weekend shenanigans. Suddenly that small square of brownie doesn't seem like such a good idea.

By Tuesday, I'm convinced my week is lost. My streak is over, I think. In front of all these people, I'm going to fail. The thought is irksome and gnawing, and thus my 11th hour kamikaze begins in earnest.

The premise is simple: with mere days before the weigh-in, I will exercise to the point of killing myself. Every second at the gym seems so valuable, every deep breath important, every bead of sweat a sign that the week might not be lost. Lately, my workouts have been uberintense. Last Tuesday, I burned 1,030 calories in one workout. And I felt I should of done more.

On Wednesday, it's back on the scale. What!!!! You've got to be kidding me! I've GAINED a pound! This scale blows! ARGGGGGGHHHH! The afternoon workout is no longer to reduce stress and to stay on the plan. It's life and death. I must lose weight. I cannot lose face in front of so many people. Last Wednesday, my workout went from intense to borderline psychotic. By the time I stepped off the machine, 1,155 calories had been burned. I was winded, sweaty, and exasperated. But dammit, I could not fail.

And so Thursday comes. The scale routine, which I promised myself weeks ago that I would end, has continued. The allure is too much to avoid. I cannot be surprised. Noooo! I worked too hard! Rage proceeds. At work, all I can think about is one more workout, just 30 more minutes before it's time to face the music. I hit the gym one more time, pumping my legs as fast as I can take, urging myself in a state of asthmatic paranoia.

By the time I get home, it's not a matter of hours any more, but minutes. Did I drink enough water? Why did I eat that slice of pizza? Which pair of pants weighs less? Why, oh why, can't we just weight ourselves in our underwear and deal with that awkwardness in our way, perhaps by breaking into discussion groups? Why I am I thinking in italics?

Then we arrive at the meeting. The line seems endless. The group leader greets everyone as the members await their turn on the electronic scales. My fingernails were much longer before I got here. Oh well, so what if it is a bad habit. A little less weight with each nail I bite off!
I take the fateful step, and weight. The recorder seems to take forever to read the number. My breath is drawn in. I'm afraid to move.

"Congratulations. Another 3.2 pounds lost."

I'm all smiles now. The 11th hour kamikaze, stupid as it may be, has worked. I'm at a milestone now, more than 30 pounds down, and more than two months ahead of the goal I set to lose that much. I know I must not continue the routine like this. I must stick to the plan, count my points, and resist the Halloween candy.

But something is working. I have to be proud of what I have already accomplished. It's not time to get off-track, not with all this pressure I've put on myself. But now I have six stars on my little bookmark, a special keyring denoting I've passed the 10 percent mark of body weight lost, and pants with a smaller waist.

I have passed the halfway mark. I'd be lame to turn back or stop now. I will make this happen.

Knock, knock? Who's There? STATS!

Weeks until wedding: 38
Week 9 pounds lost: 3.2
Total weight lost: 30.2
Percentage of overall 60-pound goal: 50.333333333333 percent
Pounds remaining to lose: 29.666666666667
Number of subscribers to this blog: 18
Number last week: 17. Spread the joy!
Last time I weighed this little: sophomore year... of high school.
Part in school play during that year: Dr. Gibbs, Our Town
Dream part in any play: Tevye, Fiddler on the Roof. Tradition!
Other parts I've played: anatomically confused baby, Free to be You and Me; Werewolf Mack, Rock On!; Mr. Smee, Peter Pan; Mark Twain, Tom Sawyer; Marsellis Washburn, The Music Man; Nick Bottom, A Midsummer Night's Dream; Zebulun, Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat
Solo sung as Marsellis Washburn: "Shipoopi."
Respectable things about singing a song called "Shipoopi":...