I wish I could blame my scales for that rather sobering reading, but I can't. Honestly, what did I expect? Yes, I did move house and I did a fair bit more incidental exercise than I usually do, but I still found the time to inhale WAY too much shitty, crappy food. So what choice do my scales have but to tell me the plain, unvarnished truth? They are just a machine - they deal in facts and figures, not emotions. So I'm going to take a leaf out of their book a la the CH way.
Today I weighed myself and I was 133.1kg. And soon I will be less than that and going down. That's it. No breast-beating, tears or recriminations or justifications. I ate too much for what my body needs, so I gained weight. It ain't rocket science!
Tonight I want to go do some boxing. I have missed boxing - I love getting my frustrations out of my system in such a healthy way. And since my future life is going to include retraining my brain not to turn to food the instant something - well, ANYTHING - goes wrong, then I'm going to need the physical outlet of something like exercise, whatever it is, to help me through the adjustment.
I can do this because I'm going to make the decisions that will enable me to do it.