“Weigh yourself in the morning after you pee.”
I think my 5th grade PE teacher—Coach Smith—gave me that advice. If not her, then someone like her. Standard advice for anyone wanting to know their actual weight without a day of regret on the scale.
I’ve also heard the full spectrum: “Weigh every day to measure change” and “Don’t weigh at all—just go by whether your clothes fit more loosely.”
You can game that last one, though, by not washing your jeans—convincing yourself over the course of a week that you’ve lost 45 pounds.
For most of the past thirteen years, I’ve had more days than not standing on the scale.
You name it, I tried it. Logged my weight daily. Measured weekly. Used apps. Asked Courtney some version of “Am I losing weight?” or “Do I look okay?” on a rotating basis.
She’d reply with either, “You’re crazy and must have body dysmorphia,” or “Yeah, I mean, your love handles are real but I don’t care.”
“Wait—why don’t you care?!?!”
Needless to say, I had (and have) problems.
Bayou Trips to the Doc
I had historically not been a “get your physical” guy. I mean if you’re sick, sure. Go to the doctor. If you’re not sick, who needs a physical? Don’t drink, don’t smoke, sort of move around, eat Chick-fil-A and trust God.
Instead, I’d just write my weight every day (often by tenths of a pound to try and get some extra positive momentum) and make Courtney wonder why she married me.
But then you become middle-aged. You wonder how you’re doing. My Baton Rouge doctor—still a friend—told me he’d still be my doc but I’d have to see him in person once a year. Aside from that I could just text and go, “Hey what’s this thing on my chin?” and he’d answer if he had the confidence to. Other times, like many folks, you just let urgent care be your doc.
During these years (early 2020s to now), I’d drive up around the new year and see some friends, then go get my bloodwork done and drive home.
If you’re wondering why I spent 9-10 hours of driving to spend 28 minutes at the doctor’s office, you’re not alone. It’s about 1800 miles of driving over three years for 70 minutes of being at the doctor.
New Numbers, New Stressors
Then in 2025 they flagged something in my bloodwork. By clinical terms I was pre-diabetic. I guess the one before that is pre-pre-diabetic, AKA normal people.
That bugged me. A lot.
Literally nobody believed me, which had the comfort of absolutely nothing.
I’d share the actual screen grab of the result and it might get met with, “Well, that’s weird.”
And it was weird.
I spent the next five months (yes, five months) chasing some picture of health. I’d tweak diet. I started exercising more. I became highly cognizant of my decisions. I still had Jell-O (blame Courtney, who would essentially tell me I have love handles while handing me Jell-O).
Got my new blood work and the numbers went up.
Now I’m comfortably moving toward “definitely probably diabetic.”
It made no sense.
So I do what any normal human does: I start 16:8 intermittent fasting and check my blood sugar (with finger sticks) roughly 150 times over the next two months.
I drive back across the Mississippi for a mid-year doc visit. I text the doc my PDF of glucose numbers. He laughs at me in his understated doctor friend way.
The result: I’m back to my original panic number from January, moving the needle almost none over the past two months despite significant lifestyle changes and loving yet quiet mockery from my wife (you know, the actual diabetic).
Chasing the Wrong Goal
We’ve all chased numbers to try and close gaps we’re feeling—the scale, barbell, the 401k. Sometimes those numbers are the goal; sometimes they aren’t.
But all my efforts were changing almost nothing (except marital harmony).
It wasn’t until around December of last year that I had finally settled into some changes I felt could stick. I was working through areas of stewardship—a simple framework I’m using—where I had to write a broad statement for what “ideal” was for me in different areas of life.
Introduction to Areas of Stewardship
Under “health and fitness” I wrote this:
I keep an active lifestyle, making wise decisions every day and maintaining a weight that affords me the ability, Lord willing, to enjoy my life into old age.
The statement isn’t supposed to be a SMART goal. It’s an ideal. A picture of what I want. Then I work backwards from there. It re-orients the number as supporting evidence but it isn’t what I chase.
Funny how there was nothing about bloodwork on there.
The scale wasn’t the enemy. Neither was the bloodwork. I just kept asking the numbers to tell me something they were never designed to tell me.
What are you measuring that might be answering a question you’re not actually asking?
Well, I want more…I’m very interested. Yes, because you are my son-in-law; and because I like to understand why people do the things they do! I love you no matter what.