Big Day? A Before and After post.

So here we are. Thursday, Feb. 25, the date when I just might hit my mark.

It's 11:45 a.m. Weight Watchers weigh-in is T-minus five hours and fifteen minutes away (what the heck does T-minus mean, anyway? Someone get NASA on the phone!). My final meal has been consumed, an "amazing chicken" sandwich (my favorite new Megan recipe). From here on it, it's just light snacks, including after the workout, until about 2 hours before the weigh-in occurs.


Yesterday, the gym scale said I was one pound past my goal of 60 pounds lost before my July wedding. In other words, without revealing to you readers (yet) just how much I weigh or what my starting weight was, the gym scale says I have lost about 61 pounds. The home scale-- which we're going to go ahead and call the jerk scale-- said this morning that I've lost 59 pounds. Obsessing a little over these numbers? Why yes, I believe I am.


The streak is intact. I've posted either weight loss or maintained weight for 26 consecutive weeks. That's six months worth of good numbers, heading into what I hope will be the happiest weigh-in of all.


And before I get there, I have one more workout. I'm on a split shift from work today, meaning I'll have plenty of time this afternoon to exercise and get in my "last chance workout," as the hardcore trainers on The Biggest Loser are so fond of saying. I've refilled a 20 oz. water bottle three times today, preparing to sweat out as much water weight as possible at the gym.


This has been a week of hard workouts, especially Tuesday, when I burned a personal record 1525 calories, according to the arc trainer at the gym. I don't know yet how hard I will push myself in the final workout... that's a decision I'll likely make while on the machine. Despite my hard sessions, I am still far from being able to do an unassisted pull-up, but that's a goal for another day.


Today, I'm all about 60. It's the home run mark set by Babe Ruth (who, I now believe, I am skinnier than he ever was during his career peak). This year, my role model turns 60 (no, not Karl Malone). Hopefully, by day's end, I'll have a 60 of my own worth celebrating. My coworkers know today's the day, and to my delight, no one brought in tempting Munchkins in an attempt to derail me. The positive comments continue to come through, and now it's up to me to deliver.


3:50 p.m.: About an hour to go, and my optimism is waning. The nice gym scale had good things to say (61-62 pounds lost). Jerk scale is another story. It says I'm about where I was last week, which if that holds true, I may feel like a bit of an ass after today's weigh-in. Grr.


This is a frustrating feeling. I find myself continually heading to and from jerk scale, eager to see if the weight is going down from when I last had a snack. My stomach is groaning... it really hates this time on Thursday.


Oh, and the workout? I left the gym looking like someone had pushed me in a pool. 1,510 calories. That's a pretty good hour.


Tick, tick, tick....


The After: Missed it by that much...


5:15 p.m.: The fateful weigh-in is over, and now is the time to reflect on that ancient axiom that my 8th grade math teacher always seemed so fond of: close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. (Note: it's sad, but that little saying is about the only thing I remember from Algebra I).


Jerk scale wasn't quite accurate, but it was closer than the gym scale. Yes, some more weight has been shed from my figure, but alas, "One Shining Moment" is going to have to wait for at least one more week. Put away the scissors and the step ladder. It's not quite time to cut down the nets.


I needed to hit 1.2 pounds this week to make it happen. I hit 0.4, for a total weight loss of 59.2 pounds. While I'm ecstatic about the total, I feel a little like a twerp. I thought today was the day. I practically got on the roof and yelled it over Colchester and Manchester.


And boy, did I freak out before today's weigh-in.


I knew it was going to be close. How close? Well, here's a confession from someone who, apparently, is quite the archetypal Weight Watcher: Not only did I weigh myself several times before heading off for the meeting, but I weighed myself in different pants. In the end, I didn't even wear full pants. I wore shorts. In driving rain. In February. At a time when all the weatherman (even that hunky Ryan Hanrahan, who I hear all the gals just love) are saying the rain could change to snow.


Why the shorts? Because they weighed about 0.2 pounds less than my usual weigh-in pants. You know who's got two thumbs and is really a doofus? (Matt puts thumbs up, then points them back toward himself). This guy. Now where is that Dunce Cap?


But there's still plenty of reason for optimism. Katie, the meeting leader and a loyal reader (rhyme slightly intended), said that given the big numbers I've posted in recent weeks, my body was bound to slow down a bit. This was just that week. It's not that I overindulged, or didn't work hard enough; weight loss is a science that's pretty difficult to predict.


Plus, Megan bought me ice cream. She is awesome.


So I'll follow the sage wisdom of Charlotte the Spider and keep my chin up. Come next Thursday, hopefully the mark will be met. And if not, heck, I'm still five months ahead of pace anyway.


STATS of the Union:

Weeks until wedding: 22. Groomsman, start practicing your chair lifts!
Pounds lost in Week 27: 0.4
Total weight lost: 59.2 lbs
Percentage toward 60-pound goal: 98.666666667
Weight left to lose before hitting (initial) goal: 0.8 lbs. That's a violent sneeze away.
Average weight loss: 21.2
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