Back on the scale on Sunday, I was psyched. I had worked out so hard this week, tracked everything. Lots of water, veggies, overall a job well done. And after the last two weeks of zero difference I was positive this would be better.
"Oh, great! You're down .4"
POINT 4? As in, less than half a pound? POINT $%#! 4?
That can't be possible. The scale must be damaged. Please go immediately and purchase a new one because surely that can't be right.
Of course it's right, I know this. The poor woman with the smile, placing my progress sticker in my booklet knew it was correct. I knew this when she didn't grab her purse immediately and scurry off to replace the damaged piece of equipment.
So, now what? Grumble on home, whip out the chocolate, screw you all, everyone, I'm eating this because I'm pissed! That's certainly what I felt like doing. As I walked to my seat all of those thoughts came crashing into my brain. Why the hell did I bother working so hard? Is this what it's going to take for me to get to my bloody goal? Day after day of listening to my feet pound the treadmill belt, sweat messing up my hair? I COULD HAVE HAD THE STUPID CORNED BEEF AND CABBAGE! But noooooo, I had to go and eat some stupid veggie, brown rice stir fry instead. And still, point freaking four.
I raised my hand, anyway, when it was time for people to celebrate their victories. I obviously looked less than thrilled when I spoke of my "success" this week. Tracy, bless her, reminded me then of how far I have come. At this point, a half pound a week is fabulous. She reminded me, that this half pound was the real deal. Not water weight, as we lose in the beginning. Real, honest to goodness, fat. Gone.
On my drive home I thought about how I've changed since starting this whole thing. I thought about how much better I feel overall. I do have more energy, things that made me tired are much easier now. I still don't like cleaning my house, but when I do it it's easier. I feel like when I need to get things done, now, I'm more likely to just dive in and get it done, than sit around dreading it. My clothes are smaller, they fit better. I don't dread going places because I've nothing to wear. It just gives me an excuse to buy something. I don't feel as self-conscious. Call it confidence, maybe.
One thing that Tracy said a while back always pops into my head when I'm having an "episode" like this. She talked about how hard it is to lose weight. It's not fun. It's hard. But it's also hard to head to the plus section of the store and try to find something pretty to wear. It's also hard to go to the doctor and hope he doesn't mention your weight. It's also hard to chase your children around with an extra 66 pounds on your butt. Which feels better? My choices are to give up, and probably go back to where I was in half the time it took me to work it off, or keep on going. If I had to think of how happy I am now compared with how I was then, it's a no-brainer. Sure, it's not always easy. Sometimes it downright sucks. But it so much more sucked two years ago. Do I really want to go back there? Would things be any easier?
Choose your "hard."