200

At the gym today I had a surprise when I stepped on the scale: 200.5 pounds. That's 90.9 kilograms, if you prefer, but weight is one measure my brain never converted. This was the first time it officially exceeded 200, although it probably crested last winter when I wasn't paying attention.

I've gained four pounds since resuming workouts four weeks ago. This isn't altogether a bad thing. I'm in better shape than I was. I've been lifting weights and working up a sweat three times a week. Some of the added weight is probably muscle. I neither fetishize nor object to fat, but it doesn't hurt the woof factor.

The essential question comes down to how I feel.

My feet and ankles still hurt hellishly every morning when I stumble out of bed. The one muscle group that's most stubborn about getting back in shape is my calves: it's almost impossible to get through the simplest possible routine of toe raises. Those muscles aren't used to supporting the extra 20 pounds that came as a side effect of mirtazapine (antidepressant). If I can't bring my legs up to speed, the only alternative will be a more conscientious weight loss plan.