A few days ago I was standing in front of the mirror checking myself out. I could see subtle changes in my body, firmer legs, slimmer tummy. So subtle, probably only I could see them.
I was curious what my scale would say. I am not obsessed with the scale and only weigh myself occasionally, the last time only a couple of weeks ago. I find that the scale can be a tormenting mind game considering it takes into account water weight and anything else that makes our weight fluctuate so often.
So I got on the scale, excited and curious to see the number reflect the image in the mirror. To my horror, it read five pounds heavier than two weeks ago. I know that muscle weighs more that fat and I am positive I was most likely retaining some water. But still, even with this knowledge, my heart sank and I instantly thought, was all that work for nothing?
No! No way was I going to let some stupid piece of technology kill my motivation and get me down. Because it did, just for a moment. I wanted to give up. I wanted to open my fridge and get out a piece of cake and shovel it in and say screw it.
I was angry at my scale. Angry that it killed my joy. Angry that it didn’t reflect what I saw in the mirror. Angry that it robbed me of my progress. So I picked it up and tossed the judgmental piece of plastic in the trash and said “screw you scale”.
I don’t need a scale to judge my progress, just a mirror, my clothes and how I feel on the inside. I have learned to trust my body and my instincts. I know I will feel like crap if I eat like crap. I know I am going in the wrong direction if my jeans are not getting any looser. I can see the fat melting off my legs and in its place are these amazing muscles. I am loving my hard core thunder thighs!
The only scale I’ll step on is the one at the doctors office, which is a rare occurrence, so that works for me.