Scale, Schmael... And Other Random Musings

I was planning on writing this whole post about something really important. It had to do with how I've managed to push through my stupid treadmill workouts the past two days (HINT: the words Jersey, Shore, Saved and Bell might have been involved). But then I got to work, and in between elevator eavesdropping overhearing people bitching about the impending snow storm, I swear that I heard no less than three of my colleagues discussing their weight, their diets, their appearance and themselves in a hurtful and negative manner.

Seriously, people. Don't even GET me up on my soapbox.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

This is a PSA for everyone who is getting frustrated with their scales. I just checked my weight chart, and I currently weigh the exact same weight as I did on January 15th of last year. At that time, I was just getting back into the swing of the weight loss game. I'd taken off the first 30 pounds and kept it off for awhile, but after a fun visit with my new PCP, I was basically told that if I didn't lose more weight, I could count on the blood starting to spurt out of my eye sockets like some B-slasher flick in the very near future, due to my borderline high blood pressure. Figuratively, I had shown such an improvement - I only had one chin! - but physically, despite the positive change in my pants size, I was sorely lacking. I could do maaaybe ONE straight-leg pushup. I could only run .25 miles at a time, and my first straight 5k time on a treadmill was 46:43. I let my asthma and allergies completely dictate my workout schedule, and I was still angry about "letting" myself get back to the unhealthy state in which I was currently residing.

Well, a year has passed. Over the past 12 months and change, I did the 30DS 3 times, ran a 5-miler, lost 12lbs somewhere along the line, lost my mind to the calorie numbers game and spiraled quickly towards a bout with an eating disorder, had a very good friend intervene and suggest a few sources where I might find some literary help with my battle, learned not to be afraid of a box of Cheez-Its anymore, gained back those 12lbs, took my first Spin class, started taking Pilates at least 1x/wk, ran my first 5k and here I am again.. same exact weight. You'd think I'd want to beat the hell out of something, because I just put in a year of work for the same stupid number.

BUT...while I am technically "the same", I am so, so different.

Now, I can run through 5 songs on my iPod without stopping. I take Spin every Saturday morning (that I actually drag myself out of bed by 9am), and have become a regular at Pilates to the point that my teacher uses me as a live example for Swan pose. I cut my "official" road 5k time by almost 10 minutes, and, had it not been De-freakin'-CEMBER when I ran it, it would have been an even bigger deficit. I can now run an 8:47 mile (Ok, so it was only that one time on Christmas Eve. But now I know I can escape if I was ever, you know, chased by zombies who run 8:50 miles). I can do 31 straight-leg pushups in under 5 minutes, and that's improving every day. I have gained confidence in myself, and made peace with my body - I no longer blame myself for gaining weight in the first place, and I don't have an arbitrary deadline by which to lose it. I'm living my life, without waiting for weight.

In short, I feel great. And no stupid number on a bunch of metal and plastic is going to tell me otherwise.

You shouldn't let it, either.


~*~This weight-related rant post brought to you courtesy of an overwhelming bout of self-righteousness. Your regularly scheduled snark will resume tomorrow.~*~