As of last Saturday, I was 3.4lbs than when I started. I juggled the same 4 or 5 lbs up and down, and landed pretty much where I began from. I tried some things, played around with protein, stopped religiously tracking my caloric intake. One week I gained almost 6lbs. As I stood there on the scale, blinking in disbelief, I thought about what I was feeling. Anger? (A little.) Disappointment? (Yes.) Confusion? (Who's talking?) And then it passed. Really quickly. I shrugged, and didn't really give it much more thought.
|Why do you care what a scale says if you know|
you've done better than it's letting on? It's
a fickle bitch. Throw it away.
I have had a bit of epiphany. A scale no longer represents the best indicator of my progress. And that, my friends, is why success is a tricky bastard. Six weeks ago, I was floundering and unhappy. Every pound was a battle and every gain was devastating. I measure my success in new ways now.
Now I can heft 12lb dumbbells at boot camp. Now I can fit into my little sister's "hand-me-ups." Now I can walk into a CrossFit gym and not only feel like I fit in, but feel like I can nail whatever they throw at me. Now I can run a 5K in under 26 minutes. Now I can see that I'm not just a number on a scale.
I'm pretty awesome. That scale is a bitch anyways. It was always jealous.
So I have a new challenge for myself. It might be a tough one, but I'm going to do it anyway. I'm going to put my scale away, and I'm not going to touch it for 6 weeks. Every week, I am going to find a new way to measure my success. And I'm going to buy the pants, because I've earned them dammit.
I think this might be my greatest success - my life is no longer devoted to "losing weight" but to "living healthy." And "getting jacked." And "finding the perfect pumpkin spice latte." Shut up, I can stop any time.