A few weeks ago I had one of the two weigh-ins I had been dreading for weeks — no movement on the scale. It was OK. I got through it with little to no mental anguish and bounced back, losing four pounds over the next two weeks.

Today, the second dreaded weigh-in — the truly bad one — happened. The number on the scale went up. By a lot, relatively speaking — five pounds.

5poundsThat’s five pounds I wasn’t carrying last week. Five pounds further from my first goal. Five pounds the wrong direction.

Much to my surprise, I am still mostly OK despite IVE singing gleefully at the top of her lungs about my failure. She expected it. She’s practically reveling in it. She just knew I would fail. She’s sure this setback means I will give up and go back to believing every awful thing she whispers in my ear.

I am not listening to her.

La la la la la la la la la! I am not listening to you, IVE! So stop. Talking!

Back at the beginning of the journey, today’s weigh-in and weight gain — not to mention IVE’s nagging voice — would have reduced me to tears. Seriously, I would have been a sobbing, incoherent, hot mess.

Today, however, I know better. No journey is complete without a wrong turn or two. Or five. Or even ten. I, klutz that I am, cannot expect to complete this marathon without a stumble or two, perhaps even a flat-out fall, along the way. That’s not a bad thing. It’s called life.



I know that while the weight gain is not good, it is explainable and not necessarily by the Serendipity fries and frozen hot chocolate in which I indulged over the weekend. (OMG, they were soooo tasty!)

Even though I was up five pounds today, I am still down half a pound of fat. That’s a good thing. The gain is the result of my body hoarding stuff. Without straying too far into TMI land, there are certain known side effects of rapid weight loss that can affect the number on the scale.

Tanita, the digital body composition analyzer I visit every week, breaks down that total number so we can see exactly what’s going on. That’s how I know I am still on track despite the larger overall number.

The important thing for me to remember, and I am doing so with relative ease, is that I am still down where it counts — total fat. Those “other” five pounds will resolve themselves in a few days, possibly even a few hours.

Jaime, the lovely medical assistant, and I talked it through. She was, as always, kind, encouraging and unfailingly positive. For my part, I did not shed a single tear, which is pretty amazing when you consider how I bawled my way through my first month of appointments.

The way I see it, my body is having a little temper tantrum.

So I’ll do what my mom did when I threw a tantrum when I was a kid.

“Is that all you’ve got?” she would taunt me. “Seriously, I can’t hear you. You’re going to have to do better than that. C’mon, you can scream louder.”

Eventually, I’d wear myself out and forget what had set me off in the first place.

I’m not going to ignore the problem, but I’m not going to succumb to it either. I’m going to keep doing what I’m doing, make a few necessary adjustments and ignore IVE as best I can.

This is not a failure. You hear that, IVE? I. Am not. A failure.

I’ve lost 33.5 pounds in 13 weeks. That’s pretty damn successful no matter how I look at it.

StumbleToday’s weigh-in is nothing more than a stumble — not even an unexpected one — on a long and bumpy road.

I knew this scale-in-the-wrong-direction day was coming. Now it’s here. Tomorrow it will be in the past, and it won’t matter.

Hakuna matata!

Hakuna Matata on Disney Video