This month, I ran a Dietbet. I also must have been smoking crack or high on Christmas spirit, but I also committed #noboozeJanuary. And this month has felt like one long ass Monday without my wine. It’s been hard reintroducing the scale back into my life. I had broken up with her so long ago, and for good reasons. I was using it as the sole measurement of my success, and the truth was, it was hindering my progress. I gave it up and started using progress pictures and measurements and how I felt overall as gauge of my progress.
But I wanted to challenge myself. Not only to lose the weight, but also to break the mental mind game I had with the scale. I wanted to prove to myself that even if the number didn’t change, and I lost my 10 dollar buy in, I was still okay with myself because my success is not dictated by a number.
And most importantly, I wanted to help others. Even if I didn’t win, and didn’t drop a single pound, if it helped and motivated someone else to succeed, that was enough for me.
So the first weigh in happened right at prime chubby time- post holidays and all the carbs and wine and Christmas candy. I really gave literally no sh*ts about what I put into my body over the holidays. And the scale showed. I was up 6.4 pounds. And I was responsible for every single one.
Seeing the number on the scale, as well as the motivation I got from the 5oo women participating with me was enough to get my ass back on track. I got back in the gym. Not just when I felt like it. Every day. I tracked my marcos meticulously. I hit them most every day. And most importantly of all, I gave up the mommy juice.
I didn’t step on the scale for the first time until a week into it.
I have been kicking ass. The scale is DEFINITELY going to reflect it.
I am only down 1 lb? ONE?
And I knew it. Old habits were sneaking back in. I started doing the scale dance. ALL.THE.TIME.
*Step on scale*
Shit. This can’t be right.
*Step on scale again*
HELL NO. This thing is straight up lying to me.
Okay this is ridiculous.
*Trims split ends*
You get my point. The scale dance took over my life. And it controlled how I felt. So two weeks in, I finally did what was best for me. I put that thing back in the closet. I was not going to let it control how I felt about my progress. I knew I was kicking ass. I knew I was feeling good and healthy and making progress. I am not going to live in a state of being controlled by a plastic electronic device. Screw you, scale. You don’t know me. You don’t know my life.
This past week, I stepped it up. I started drinking all my water. I was getting extra time in at the gym. I ate cleaner than a ever. And most importantly I didn’t get on the scale.
Last time I checked, I still had 1.5 lbs to go.
I worked my butt off to try to get it off, but I also accepted that it might just not happen. PCOS can make weight stubborn and act like a rude houseguest that doesn’t get the hint to get the hell out. I had to be okay with it if it wasn’t where I wanted it to be.
So I woke up this morning, fully prepared for my goal not to be reached. I just chalked it up to a good motivation for the month, and was determined to keep on pushing.
I hyped myself up to get on.
For real? Let me just double check.
Oh man, scale. You just made my life. I hit my goal by the skin of my teeth (0.2 lbs)
I quickly snapped a picture and sent it in for verification.
I was ecstatic.
And I promptly went about making myself a plate of celebratory chocolate chip protein pancakes. I deserved the treat for this past month. And I started pulling down which bottle of wine I wanted to crack open tonight.
Until I remembered,
Shit. I am not verified yet. I might have to reweigh. And I won’t be where I was this morning after that glutinous pancake feast. Fool.
And I’ve been sitting here, stressing all morning. Waiting for the verified email to come through. Because I know if I got on that scale again it might not be as nice. I had pancake bites this morning that weighed 0.2 lbs. That .2 lbs stood between being a winner and being a loser.
And then I got my shit together, and realized- I’m not a loser at all. I kicked ass. I feel amazing. I helped others lose. I am proud of myself. So whether I have to reweigh or not, I know who the real loser is. The scale. Because it does not control how I feel about myself. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.
If you are interested in joining my next dietbet, let me know and I will get you the link! We will start February 15th, just in time to bypass the Superbowl snacks and Valentine’s chocolate.
Originally posted 2016-02-01 14:19:24.