Limber (pt. 2)
In case you don’t know, I’m talking about my bathroom scale.
Participating in an S&M session first thing in the morning is not to my liking. There are countless others who feel the same. Too much pain for too little result. Placing it in the centre of the room, I make sure that it’s calibrated to the exact numbers I want it to achieve: Start at zero. No way am I going to be five pounds heavier than what I really am.
First, my right foot touches the pad while my left is still on the floor. As I raise my left foot on the other side of the scale, I put pressure on my right foot and I see the numbers rise dramatically. Shit. No, no, wait. Wait. Now, both feet are on the pads. Flat. I look down and I see the numbers. What? That stupid scale is wrong.
Without resorting to opening up my physics textbooks, I come up with a logical solution: less me = less weight. You don’t need Dr. Niels Bohr (or Dr. Atkins) to teach you that.
Slowly, I raise my left foot off the pad. The numbers on the scale move up and down. Achieving balance, I rest my foot against my right leg, creating a 45 degree angle. No change. While I move out of this yoga pose, I raise my left leg in the air and off to the side. Still the same number. My arms must be the cause of this. Since they’re contributing to a vertically-downward gravitational pull, having them dangling to the side is not beneficial to my situation.
To offset the uneven weight distribution, I raise my right arm to the side, then my left arm, forming a perpendicular line to my body. No change. Those brainiacs are idiots. They make me want to forget everything I’ve been taught in science class. I’ll never lose weight with their methods. To hell with my retention abilities – both memory and water.
The lack of change must be due to my left foot resting against my right knee. As I release the pose, I extend my left leg outwards, as far as it can go. My head lies parallel to the floor, and my eyes glance downwards. No change.
Come on. Think of something, anything.
Desperate as I am to lose at least one pound, I resort to one final move. The stage is set and all is silent. Moving my weight forward while slightly bending my right knee, I arch my foot and lay all of my weight on its ball. Tiny beads of perspiration start to form on my brow. My arms and my left leg bend slightly at the elbow and knee. The pose resembles Ganesha. It’s an Olympic feat. If this doesn’t get a 9.5 from the Russian judge, then to hell with him.
A final glance down to justify my determination. Ooh, I almost can’t look! And, the scale says I have lost a half-pound. One half-pound. Fuck.
I didn’t go through all this to lose a half-pound. I probably lost that weight in sweat while I was maneuvring my body in all sorts of ways that it isn’t supposed to go in the first place. Something good does come out of it; I know I’m much more limber than I initially thought.
Who says I’m not gymnast material? If an Olympic gymnastics coach would barge into the bathroom at this very moment (for whatever reason) and saw me, looking like a naked Cirque du Soleil contortionist, he would ask me to join the team… if he’s really desperate.
But, first I would have to lose a couple of pounds.
Participating in an S&M session first thing in the morning is not to my liking. There are countless others who feel the same. Too much pain for too little result. Placing it in the centre of the room, I make sure that it’s calibrated to the exact numbers I want it to achieve: Start at zero. No way am I going to be five pounds heavier than what I really am.
First, my right foot touches the pad while my left is still on the floor. As I raise my left foot on the other side of the scale, I put pressure on my right foot and I see the numbers rise dramatically. Shit. No, no, wait. Wait. Now, both feet are on the pads. Flat. I look down and I see the numbers. What? That stupid scale is wrong.
Without resorting to opening up my physics textbooks, I come up with a logical solution: less me = less weight. You don’t need Dr. Niels Bohr (or Dr. Atkins) to teach you that.
Slowly, I raise my left foot off the pad. The numbers on the scale move up and down. Achieving balance, I rest my foot against my right leg, creating a 45 degree angle. No change. While I move out of this yoga pose, I raise my left leg in the air and off to the side. Still the same number. My arms must be the cause of this. Since they’re contributing to a vertically-downward gravitational pull, having them dangling to the side is not beneficial to my situation.
To offset the uneven weight distribution, I raise my right arm to the side, then my left arm, forming a perpendicular line to my body. No change. Those brainiacs are idiots. They make me want to forget everything I’ve been taught in science class. I’ll never lose weight with their methods. To hell with my retention abilities – both memory and water.
The lack of change must be due to my left foot resting against my right knee. As I release the pose, I extend my left leg outwards, as far as it can go. My head lies parallel to the floor, and my eyes glance downwards. No change.
Come on. Think of something, anything.
Desperate as I am to lose at least one pound, I resort to one final move. The stage is set and all is silent. Moving my weight forward while slightly bending my right knee, I arch my foot and lay all of my weight on its ball. Tiny beads of perspiration start to form on my brow. My arms and my left leg bend slightly at the elbow and knee. The pose resembles Ganesha. It’s an Olympic feat. If this doesn’t get a 9.5 from the Russian judge, then to hell with him.
A final glance down to justify my determination. Ooh, I almost can’t look! And, the scale says I have lost a half-pound. One half-pound. Fuck.
I didn’t go through all this to lose a half-pound. I probably lost that weight in sweat while I was maneuvring my body in all sorts of ways that it isn’t supposed to go in the first place. Something good does come out of it; I know I’m much more limber than I initially thought.
Who says I’m not gymnast material? If an Olympic gymnastics coach would barge into the bathroom at this very moment (for whatever reason) and saw me, looking like a naked Cirque du Soleil contortionist, he would ask me to join the team… if he’s really desperate.
But, first I would have to lose a couple of pounds.
Authored by S at 12:00 am
3 Comments:
Those who have an obsession with the scale, know that one pound can sometimes feel like 100.
Personally, I wouldn't know since I'm too busy doing naked yoga while weighing myself.
That's what I thought! LOL! Only of course, because I also do scale yoga. This particular exercise routine can only be properly performed in the morning, and never after a night of high salt intake or a holiday meal. Doctors scales are always wrong. My theory is, doctors offices are purposely built over areas where gravity is strongest, and they NEVER let you subtract for heavy shoes and clothing!
Vanguard, that might be a bit of a challenge at my doctors office. The scale is right out there in the hallway leading to the exam rooms. I don't know that I'd want to expose poor sick people to the sight of my nakedness when they're already sick, lol!
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