New Weight Loss Invention – Lose Weight Even When You Don’t!

I really hate to do this to you; after all, for four years you’ve been so loyal and supportive and helpful and all. However, a guy’s gotta make a livin’, you know? And — especially in an economy like this — I gotta make hay when the sun shines, fly when the wind is beneath my wings, strike while the iron is hot. In effect, it’s time to move on.

However, since we’ve been together and shared so much, I think I owe you an explanation. Gather round my feet and hear my tale.

I have learned to only weigh myself once a week. You see, before I became enlightened, I would jump on the scale several times a day. First thing out of bed, I’m on the scale. Drink a few cups of coffee? Better check again. Twenty minutes of walking? See the effects on what I weigh.

It was a non-stop roller coaster of ups and downs, frustration and exhilaration. But, I’m thinking — just an idea — it’s a touch obsessive when you’re spending more time monitoring your weight than day-traders check the stock market. I could be wrong; but I’m not thinking so.

So, what to do? After all, one of the keys to successful habit change is to monitor on a regular basis (albeit that does not mean “minute by minute”). And then the idea comes to me, I will allow myself one “unofficial” weigh-in per week. Since I weigh myself on a calibrated scale at my meeting each Monday afternoon, I will only weigh myself at home on Monday mornings. That way, I can “calibrate” my scale with the other one and should I not be able to attend my meeting, I’ll still be able to see how I’m doing. Brilliant, just brilliant, even if I do say so myself.

Over time, I learned that the difference between my scale and the calibrated one is five pounds. In other words, if I weigh 180 on my scale (which I usually do), my “real” weight is 185. (I’d rather it be the other way, but ‘tis what ‘tis.)

OK, so here’s what happens.

Two weeks ago, I get on my scale and, lo and behold, I weigh 177! Wow! Way righteously cool! That means my ORW (Official Real Weight) will be 182, the number I’ve been shooting for for the last several months! Hallelujah! Praise the saints! Glory be! I’m dancing in my skivvies (please don’t focus on that image too long), exhilarated by the prospect of achieving my goal — at least until I weigh in formally in the afternoon, where the ORW is still 184.

“Say what?” I ask the scale, “My home scale said 177. You should be reading 182. What gives?” Defiant, it merely reflects stoically the flashing red LED. There is no arguing with the scale. I am a broken man when I come to the realization that my scale is now off by seven pounds instead of five.

Fast forward to last week’s Monday morning ritual. After a week of passing up all sorts of goodies, determined to reach my happy place of 182. Today, the scale Gods smile upon me yet again. Today’s number? 175! Add seven (not five) and one reaches the magic land of 182. Repeat skivvies dance. Repeat praise to the heavens. Repeat disappointment as again, I weigh 184.

Then it dawns on me!