The Weigh-In

Morning weigh-in time. I vaulted up onto the kitchen counter, where an old-school mechanical food scale sat parked beside the breadbox. Brushed stainless steel tray up top, wide analog dial below. No warm-up needed. I stepped onto the platform, planted both boots wide, and drove an explosive two-foot stomp straight into the center. Clonk! The heavy spring compressed deep, and that bright red needle whipped around the face like a tachometer, spiking hard past the three-pound mark. Pure recoil kicked back right through my soles. I held my balance, locked my knees, and stuck the landing dead center. Calibrated and ready to roll.