I don’t know whom was more scared: myself or the scale. Part of the weight loss journey requires the inherent need to know how much you weigh.
Before, as long as my clothes would fit I didn’t see the need to know just how much gravity is required to keep my feet on the ground. Since I’ve decided to participate in a 21 Day challenge (I’m a sadomasochist), the first thing needed…that number the majourity of women dread.
The process is simple, weigh yourself once a week (same day & time, preferably in the morning before you eat and after a “troop movement”, after all why weigh the waste) but frightening- so much data and assumptions are based upon that simple 2-3 digit number: “health risks”, “healthy weight”, body fat percentages (another sadistic number), and the list goes on…
But here I am, Sunday morning after said troop movement, like a scene out of High Noon, facing my nemesis, The Scale, with all the false bravado I can muster. What seemed like minutes was just seconds – when an epiphany sent from on high came to me…
I’m healthy, I’m happy and I look pretty damn good. This journey isn’t about self castigation, or the “end goal”. It’s the process of becoming whom you want to be. It’s the process of learning about whom you are and what you can accomplish.
So with my new “suck it up buttercup”, I stepped on that scale, that long feared number registering, and I told myself -it’s a good number to start from, and all it is, is that: a number.
Now measuring myself…that’s a different story.
Next Up: The Protein Shake