The scale and I have our moments of, well, homicidal tendencies. It helps me stay on track, as studies have shown, yet I must admit it cannot always be truly accurate, especially factoring water retension from hormones or sodium.
But with it I have a more accurate guide as opposed to, say, standard wishful thinking. "Was eating three portions worth of stuffed pepper really so terrible?" Um, yeah, snorts the scale.
Abby Ellin wittily describes the love-hate relationship between the weigher and the weight device in "Me Versus the Scale." Poundage and I go way back, although I never weighed myself as a child. Ma's eagle eye and early cookie banishment kept matters at a sufficiently even keel. Now the responsibility is all mine.
Anywho, there have been times when I rant at the flashing number. "What d'you mean, the SAME as yesterday? Are you KIDDING me? NO WAY!"
While regular daily weighing has been one of the givens in keeping off the pounds, it is not always an accurate measure of weight loss. A person can lose inches but the scale doesn't reflect that.
Another factor is build. "Apples" gain weight in the worst possible area, compressing organs and making hormones go haywire; exclusive "pears" can bear the same extra fat without harming their bodies. Unfair, but there you go.
Since I am a modified "apple," I figure I should stay on top of deep visceral fat, which causes the medical issues.
Therefore, the scale and I are doomed to a long relationship.
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