If you’ve seen this before and want to jump to my latest post, just click here.
Yesterday I bought a digital bathroom scale. It took a long time to decide which one to buy, because they didn’t seem to be consistent. Every time I stepped off and back on again, I’d get a slightly different weight reading. As much as half a kilo, which is a whole pound. I’d like my scale to be consistent at least. After a lot of testing, I finally settled on a model that seemed to give the same result every time, though I’m not convinced it does. But short of getting a doctor’s office style scale, this is as good as it’s going to get.
We got the scale at Aushang, the large modern grocery store near where we live here in Wuxi, China. It cost 109RMB, which at today’s exchange rate is $17.28 CDN. While my wife filled the grocery cart, I went off in search of a tape measure, the flexible kind used in dress making. After a lot of wandering up and down the aisles I finally found one.
You can’t start a new project without spending money.
Yesterday and today I’ve been getting this site up and running, setting up the domain registration, installing WordPress for the blog software, putting together the gateway page. Now I need to have some pictures of my current physical shape, and some measurements.
Official launch of the website and the project is tomorrow, April 1. That seems appropriate.
This project terrifies me. I’m going to have to change my lifestyle, and a huge part of me doesn’t want to do it. I like eating whatever I want whenever I want. I like my shot or two of scotch before I go to bed. I love the way the campus restaurant cooks shu tiao, French fries. Is my current weight and appearance really all that much of a problem?
Well, yes it is. I’m down to the last hole in my belt. I’m starting to feel crowded by my own belly, like I can’t really get a deep breath. I’m starting to lose mobility, having more leg pain and joint pain, feeling more uncomfortable. I don’t like the way I look, and while I can feel good when I compare myself to many men my age, I am all too aware that I’m packing a lot more pounds than I should be carrying.
But I don’t want to do this. I really don’t. Why do I have such a fucking ego that I think I need to look like a teenager? A part of me is afraid I won’t be successful at this. I’ll just make a public fool of myself, and blog about it while I do it. This whole idea is stupid.
And damn it all, I know I’m going to do it anyway. Fuck.