As is the case, I assume, with most women, I don’t like to weigh myself. I used to attach too much importance to the number that would appear on the digital demon screen so I now find it much healthier to use how I’m feeling and the tightness of my clothes as a gauge for where I might be at with the poundage.
I generally try to avoid the scale. It’s more important to me to live as healthily as possible instead of obsess about some arbitrary number that the media encourages you to attain. Buuuuuuuuut, I do check in every once and awhile just to make sure I haven’t stretched out all of my clothing while living in oblivion. And by “once and awhile” I mean maybe every 1 – 2 months. It’s more than enough to go through the weekly weigh-in trauma with The Biggest Loser contestants; I don’t need the added stress myself. I’m of the opinion that it doesn’t matter how much you weigh, or how often you weigh yourself, the event is traumatizing and should be limited for sanity’s sake. Health and happiness, I prefer to tunnel my vision and focus on that!
I grew up an athlete and worked out consistently through college but let the activity slack a little bit after I graduated and found myself in the professional world. I started running in 2009 and have lost the 20 or so pounds I’d put on since college and am probably now in the best shape and health of my entire life, and certainly happier than ever!
I did however, venture back into the darkness last week juuuuust for a check in meeting. It didn’t go so well.
I’m not sure what I was expecting; I just wanted to confirm that the reading on the devil meter matched the weight I had in my brain; you know, based on how my clothes were fitting. Long story short (although I don’t believe this has even been a short story so far), it didn’t.
It was more.
It was about 5 – 7 pounds heavier than what I had been thinking in my brain (not sure where else the home of that thought would have been but I often use this phrase and am now just realizing how silly it is, eh, oh well).
I stepped off and exhaled again. WITW!?! (read: What In The World!?!)
I wasn’t sure why. I immediately started to count the days of my cycle; I was SURE it was PMS weight. No? Maybe stress? Water? Backed-up colon? WITW!?!
Then I took a breath and realized…it didn’t matter.
I had a moment of panic when I got off of that scale. I instantly became sad, angry, disappointed, frustrated etc. I had a huge wave of negative emotions swirl through my body within less than 10 seconds. I then took a deep breath and realized…it doesn’t matter!!
My brain cleared and I was at peace.
Societal messages have told me I’m supposed to be a certain way, a certain weight and I let myself believe it for a brief moment. Those were the first thoughts that came to me which was disappointing. I typically try to keep societal messages at bay these days but I couldn’t help what crept up into my mind.
I realized, I have just run my best half marathon EVER (and under two hours!), am running 30 – 40 miles per week on average and feel great; the negative body image messages in the media suck and I am awesome! I think we should all say this to ourselves in the mirror every morning, “I am great, I am lovable, American media is not; I choose to celebrate ME!”
Who’s with me?!
(I weighed myself the next day just to confirm my suspicions…I was five pounds lighter. This is my point people….devil scale.)
I read a great quote recently from Rita Wilson (wife of Tom Hanks) on her recent weight loss journey (with Jillian Michaels) and self-talk.
“We all have a story we tell ourselves: ‘I’m weak.’ ‘I’ve never been able to lose weight.’ ‘I’m big boned.’ ‘I’m menopausal and my metabolism has changed.’ ‘I can’t take time for myself.’ I read somewhere once that if your fantasies are your own, why not make them great ones? Why not ‘I will look like Gisele in a thong’?
I am going to make a conscious effort to tell myself a positive story moving forward. Giselle in a thong, who’s with me?!