The scale is still calling to me, despite the fact that I'd made a commitment to myself not to weight myself for thirty days, until July 26, in an effort to stop focusing on the scale.
So...why the scale obsession?
At a certain point in this and every attempt to be the healthy woman of my dreams, the woman I have daydreamed about for my entire adult life, I start to have major, major doubts.
What if this isn't enough?
What if I'm doing this wrong?
What if this isn't WORKING?????
Again, the rational part of me knows that the scale is not the ultimate answer to these questions. It is my old, familiar, and somewhat unhealthy benchmark that only gives me one small side of the story. But, on some level, that scale will tell me if this is all working.
Today I've been asking myself many, many questions.
First, why does it matter if it is working?
Well, because I have a goal. I have a goal that I'm willing to make sacrifices for. But those sacrifices are difficult. My old, unhealthy habits give me a great deal of happiness (albeit temporary happiness) and comfort (again...temporary). They are so beautifully familiar. So if these sacrifices are not working, well, why bother? Why not go back to familiar? To comfortable? Why try so hard?
And this is what has stopped me short, time and time again. Life gets in the way, the sacrifices become too difficult or stop mattering, I don't see results, and I give up.
So. If this isn't working...I'll quit.
This leads me to my next question--what does working mean? What am I hoping to achieve?
The answer to this is complicated. It is healthy and unhealthy. It is possible and impossible. But if I were to paint a picture of the woman of my dreams, the woman I hope to be at the end of this "journey" (ugh...gag me), it's this:
I want to look, feel like, and be as fit as a Crossfit chick. I want to be strong and healthy. I want to be lean and muscular. I want to be an amazing example of health and fitness for my kids. I want healthy food and fitness to be a part of my every day life. I want it to be not just what I do, but who I am. I don't want it to be a constant struggle. Who bitches about brushing their teeth every day? Nobody, that's who! It's just something you do! Not doing it would just be disgusting, right?
I want to be hot. I want to wear the clothes that I've always dreamed about. I want to be confident. I want to be brave. I want to feel good in my skin. I want to take my kids swimming without being ashamed or wholly focused on how I look in a bathing suit. I want to go on beach vacations. I want to wear a dress on a date with Mr. Kazoo. I want to zip knee high boots over my calves. I want to wear skinny jeans.
I want to be healthy and vibrant. I want to avoid illness and, if it finds me, I want to be in the best health that I can be to fight it, to heal. I want to age gracefully. I want to be that seventy year old woman that power walks her way out of the Grand Canyon. I want to do push ups on my toes. I want to do pull ups at the playground. I want to do burpees and mountain climbers. I want to see the muscles in my arms and legs.
If you divided this vision into two categories, there would be a health-focused vision and a vanity-focused vision.
I need to try and let go of the vanity-focused vision, just a little. This one has always been the one that has driven me the most, and it is a negative motivator. I can't control the dimples on my thighs. I can't control whether or not my mommy pooch shrinks and tightens. I can't control whether or not the fat roll under my arms disappears.
The health-focused vision I can control, to some extent. I can control how strong I get. How fast I move. I control how many fruits and vegetables and whole grains and lean proteins I consume and, of course, how many bowls of ice cream and cookies I eat. My actions control the example I set for my kids. So do my habits. I control to what degree I accept myself. I control how strong I'll be as I age (barring major illness that I have no control over, of course).
I know, rationally, that focusing on these things, a nutrient-rich diet with proper portions, strength and fitness activities, that I can have some effect on whether I can wear skinny jeans or fit into my board shorts again. But I can't force my body to be this perfect, Crossfit-ty paragon of fitness that I want it to be (or can I...?).
The question I've been asking myself is, So if I can't lose weight, if I can't wear knee high boots, if I can't wear a swimsuit, if I can't see the definition in my leg muscles, is it even worth it? Do I keep doing it?
The answer has to be yes. I'm eating right more often than I'm not. I'm consciously trying to make healthy choices, every day. I'm exercising intensely almost daily. I'm doing the right kind of exercise, too. I know this. I know I'm setting a great example for my kids. I know that if I keep this up for the next two weeks, two months, two years, two decades, I will age the way I want to age.
I still want to know the number on the scale. Even though I know that the number has little to do with my goals. I know it will take a long, long time before that number stops having any meaning.
I know, too, that focusing on the scale may prevent me from finding out something that I really, really want to know. I've been doing very well for almost a month now, eating right, working out intensely, drinking lots of water, keeping my health and my goals in the forefront of my mind. What I want to know is...what will happen to me, to my body, to my psyche, if I keep with his for an entire year? Two? Three? What would I look like? How healthy would I be? How would I feel?
I've never managed to be consistent for any great length of time. I've probably managed, oh, maybe three months of healthy living at any given time before falling back into my old ways. But a year?? What would that be like?
The only way that I can ever know this is to do it. Nomatter what the scale says. Nomatter what is happening in my life. To just stick with the tedium, the quinoa, the salads, the motherfuckingbroccoli, the hill rides, the failed burpee attempts.
Thinking this through on my last bike ride and organizing my thoughts here, I've finally gotten the lesson that I have been searching for when contemplating this damn scale. I was trying to decide whether or not it really mattered whether I got on the scale today or waited another fifteen days, and I just realized why it does matter.
It matters because if I stepped on that damn scale and saw that I'd only lost two or three pounds, I'd be heartbroken. I'd be discouraged. I might start obsessively counting calories again. I might start exercising three times every day. I might give up. The number still means too much to me. My vain reasons for doing this would overpower my other, healthy, important reasons.
And then, who knows, maybe I'd step on the scale and see that I lost 10 pounds. I'd be thrilled. I could go one of two ways. I could say, "Hey, I lost ten pounds and I still made lots of mistakes! Maybe if I cut back a little more on food and worked a little bit harder, I could reach my goal faster!" and then eat in such a way that would lead to an all out week-long binge later. Or, who knows, maybe I'd allow myself to eat more sweets and larger portions, telling myself that I had done so well and was losing so quickly that a little more food couldn't really hurt.
I don't want the scale to control this process. This is not to say that, on the morning of 7/26, I won't strip down after a visit to the toilet before hopping on the scale at 4:30 a.m. because I'm too excited to sleep. I know that will happen. What I hope to achieve is that, through restricting access to the scale, I will, one day, focus less on it. Instead, I will focus on other goals that I know will get me where I want to be: more squats, double-unders, push ups.
So, no, I won't be stepping on the scale today. Yes, I'll eat more goddamnedbroccoli. All I can do is keep slogging through.
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