Scaling the walls.
I woke up yesterday feeling sore, you know that well deserved euphoria sore from exercise. It had been two weeks in which I had been spot on with eating and exercising like crazy (running, walking, yoga, biking, lifting, planking) spot on with making good choices and putting myself in the best places I could be. I felt good in my skin, my clothes felt great and loose and I found myself walking by windows and smiling at my reflection, I was ready to step on the scale. I had taken a break from getting on the scale for those two weeks, feeling I was getting obsessed with the frustration of “the number”.
The scale, like Lex Luther to Superman or the Joker to Batman continues to be my arch-nemesis in so many ways. I stepped on that scale fully expecting to to see a number not yet reached on this journey, a number that was going to thrill me and be the reward I earned for each mile I biked, each muscle spasm at night and every “no thank you” to cookies, cakes and deep fried anythings. When I opened my eyes, the gasp of breath was immediate as were the tears and “fuck you” was out of my mouth like a simple blink of my eye. The number was up, for all my hard work I gained six pounds. I picked up the scale and opened the back door throwing it as hard as I could, it landed halfway between the back porch and garage, next to Mr. Skunk that Tully had taken out with him earlier in the morning. I looked at this crooked square stuck in the ground on one side, the other side exposed and dented all to hell, and that is just how I felt.
I sat down on the kitchen floor, drew my knees up to my chest and cried. I cried for what seemed like hours, I cried because I was so sad, so mad, and so disappointed. I cried because I am terrified of the changes coming, I cried because Lindsey is leaving, I cried because I can’t reverse the damage I have done to my body no matter how much I try, the tears fell and they kept falling as I thought of Knoxville and how much I miss what is there. The poor dogs gathered round me and even sweet Tristan mustered up the courage to come up next to me gently licking my elbow. I got myself together and did my best to get through the day, it was not pretty there was ice cream and cookies involved and a giant pity party in which all the most important guests were invited including me, myself and I.
Somehow I was back at it today, eating my healthy packed food and meeting Lindsey at the gym after work. It hit me coming home from the gym tonight. Yesterday sucked, this part of the journey sucks and I don’t know what the answer is, I know all the valid reasons my weight could be up, and all the mind games that come with it. Do I get on the scale more? Do I get on the scale less? Have I plateaued, do I need to switch up my routine of workouts? do I need to adjust caloric intake? With all of these thoughts in my head sloshing around there is one thing that never occurred to me, one epic difference than so many other times in the past when a roadblock appeared. Yesterday when I hurled the scale out the back door, when I was sobbing uncontrollably and felt like all four walls had given way and came crashing down. I never once thought about giving up.
In this moment, right now, that has to be more important than the number on the scale.
Onward and upward as they say…. just one small step at a time till I am over this wall.