I'm an addict.
Despite the fact that I'd committed to hide the scale and avoid it for thirty days, I started the day as I always do, by using the bathroom, stripping down, and stepping on that futhermucking scale.
And getting PISSED by what I saw...
Weight: 186 pounds.
The exact same number I saw the morning before I said, "ENOUGH ALREADY!" and began documenting my food and deciding, once and for all, to finally go and get what I want.
The exact. Same. Number.
And though I know all of those wonderful, reassuring things I blogged about yesterday about the number being an arbitrary one that I can't control, about it not measuring my size or my body composition, about me not being able to control anything other than my behavior...I was pissed. Pissed and disappointed and angry and ready to quit.
No. More.
That scale is going in the closet. It's not coming out until Friday, July 26. For the next thirty days, I'll try and do the following:
1. Shave five minutes off of my Hogsback ride time.
2. Shave five minutes off of my Hobsback walk time.
3. Do at least one standard toe push up.
These are the things that I can and will control. These are the things that matter.
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