Losing

I've been going to the gym pretty regularly over the last month and a half. Enough so that it's beginning to become a little boring. Not that it gets easier -- some days, yes, but most days, not really. I get on the elliptical and I know that when I get to about twenty-five minutes, I'm going to be glancing at the timer every thirty seconds or so. That's actually how I can tell if it's going to be particularly grim -- if I find myself doing that peek before twenty minutes, there's some doubt about getting up to thirty. I do have a tendency, which I'm trying to fight, to say well, then, just stop at twenty. Usually, I press on. Sometimes, I don't.

I do some work with weights, too, but not a lot. Some arm work with the free weights; some with what's called the 'pec fly', and with two machines that work your legs. Not a lot -- perhaps fifteen minutes, total. I probably ought to extend that a bit.

I'm doing this because I'd like to lose weight, and this is pretty much the only way I know of to do that. Get the metabolism running faster. Its worked in the past, and I've seen results this time around, too. It's gratifying to realize that the numbers on the scale are starting with the third digit less than they were a month ago.

Neverthelesss, this morning, when I weighed myself, I was astonished to find it starting with the second digit being less. Second? It seemed hardly possible. That'd mean that between yesterday and two I lost about seven pounds. There is no way, I thought. I got off the scale, let it reset, got back on. Same thing. What? I put it back, thought about it, took it out again. And just like that, it was back to where it was, yesterday.

It was nice for a while, though.