I have this overly informative scale.
Yes, I weigh myself every day. In the era when I did not (the Dark Years), I accumulated an astonishing amount of weight, seemingly out of nowhere. (You can make zooming space noises with that, if you like.)
On my Excel graph that shows my weight since 1997 (oh, come on – you knew I had one), there’s a big gap for the Dark Years. At the end of them, five years later, my weight was up more than 32 pounds. Ugly ugly ugly. Ignorance may be bliss, but it can be hell on the body fat.
I remember buying that scale, in 2002, coming back from a weekend in the mountains. I was starting to get those rolls of fat on my rib cage, you know? The ones where you really can’t pretend that it’s muscle or hip-spread. We stopped at a Bed, Bath and Beyond and I bought a simple scale that I step onto until I’d cut back on stuffing myself for a week. Thus I don’t really know how high it got. Clinging to my blissful ignorance.
That was two scales ago. Now I have this fancy/shmancy one that shows me not only my weight, but also my body fat percentage, muscle percentage, visceral fat percentage, metabolic rate and my metabolic age.
It’s the last one that really kills me.
Oh, my weight is still too high – about six pounds over the high end of my BMI. My body fat is in the “overfat” arena, which is tremendously annoying. But, to add insult to injury, this scale tells me, every damn day that I’m three to four years older than I am.
Even if I kick her.
Oh, it’s not as bad as it has been. At a couple of points in time (Dark Months), she had me over 50. We’ve bargained it down from there. But she still insists that, metabolically, fattily, I’m older than I am.
Otherwise, I’m a youthful person. I come from a family of youthful women. People say I look younger than I am. I admit I have ego tied up in it.
So, while it’s nice to see my weight come down, the body fat percentage decrease, what really makes my day is when I lose a year overnight. I feel like Merlin, aging backwards, growing younger.
I’m not really inclined towards anorexia, but I could see wanting to keep working to peel those years away. Erasing the pounds until I’m a sweet, young thing again.
Eh, who am I kidding?
I’ll be happy to shake the “overfat” insult.
I've never heard of metabolic age, but I find this fascinating. I wonder how I could figure mine out?
Tawna
There must be an algorithm, Tawna. From my scale's handbook, it's apparently calculated from the metabolic rate, weight and body fat ratios. OR, you could buy a fancy/shmancy scale like mine! (just remember – they're kind of bitchy)
I would probably throw it out the window. LOL As it is, I hate the scale I have now because it taunts me. Ohh! I've lost 30 pounds. Wait, how did I gain 12 in a week??? That's impossible! Now, we kind of worked out a truce where it only tells me a couple of pounds here and there so I don't have to dismantle it.
There's a "game" for the Wii that works with their balance board peripheral called "Wii Fit". In typical Wii fashion, it lets you create a friendly, cartoonish avatar to represent you in the fitness activities and then collects your vital statistics. But then, not only does it do you the indignity of calculating a metabolic age, it automatically modifies your avatar to reflect what it now knows about your physique. So your once-svelte animated self is forced to waddle and roll through the sundry athletic endeavors. It's funny, yet sad.
It's one of the great unfairnesses, Danica, that we sweat and struggle to lose one, maybe two, pounds in a week and can gain five in a blink. You tell that scale who's in charge!
That's too funny, Kev! I've heard other people complain about their roly-poly Wii Fit avatars. I suppose it gets more svelte again as you improve your stats?
Love this post…mostly because I can SO relate to it. I grumble at my scale often – especially when I had a glass of wine the night before.
Rib Rolls = Harbingers of the Dark Years
Instead of brandishing swords on horseback, they're riding biscotti boards on waves of gravy armed with ice cream scoopers.
As an owner of rib rolls, I would shudder to step onto such a contraption. Though I would contemplate the Wii Fit if it gave me bigger boobs.
Ok so I don't need that scale. I already have my hubby counting my calories.
I think your scale needs politeness lessons. It should behave more like the mirror of the Queen in Snow White. Although I suppose that would defeat its purpose entirely.
I hear you, Kristina – how can one glass of wine do that??
Love it, KAK – new graphic novel?
I'm sure you could feed the Wii Fit whatever measurements you care to fabricate, Laura. 😉
I would have to kill, Chudney. You're a saint.
Yeah, Kerry, I want to *be* the fairest in the land, not just be assured that I am…