I’m About to Make My Scale a Pair of Concrete Golashes

Happy Easter y’all. LLD (If you’re new here, that stands for Lumberjack Lookin’ Dude, my husband) and I live without a lot of family nearby, so it was a pretty regular Sunday for us. I went to my first fitness home, YouFit for a little running. I wanted to see if I could run a 5k on the treadmill- and holy moly wouldn’t you know it- I did it. I did it in about 33 minutes, and I wasn’t even breathing hard. My legs more or less gave out on me this time and when I got off the treadmill I couldn’t feel them. I was like Olaf from Frozen ‘I CAN’T FEEL MY LEGGGGSSSSS!’. Now I know this is the treadmill and it’s not the same as outside because it propels you and blah blah blah. But no kidding y’all, I was struggling with the couch to 5k program just a few months ago. I didn’t think that I’d be able to ever run 33 minutes non stop EVER. But I did it. I was watching Cinderella when I was running, so that was an even bigger plus. ABC Family is having a major princess marathon, so they had Cindy on this morning, and last night my wild Saturday was full of Little Mermaid and Tangled. We actually had a good conversation about Little Mermaid on Facebook last night,  like why wouldn’t Ariel write Eric a note to explain the sitch with that calamari feast Ursula? And who the hell let her get married at 16? Anyway, I digress….

While I was running today I was thinking about something I always said when I was in my 20’s- that I was looking forward to 30 because I figured life would be quiet and have settled down by 30. Now here I am, 31, and I wouldn’t say life has settled down (and I don’t want it to), but I realized something: I’m actually myself. My early to mid 20’s were about trying to figure life out. In my late 20’s I started to find me, and now at 31 I’ve come to complete acceptance and comfort. I’m not struggling internally with who I’ve become, I’m embracing it, and starting to really live the life I was meant to live. Even though I may not want the same things as others, I’ve come to learn it’s ok. No matter what anyone wants, as long as it makes you happy, it’s ok. There is a ridiculous amount of happiness and contentment that comes with this. I’m still going to explore and adventure and try my best to live the hell out of this life I was given, but now I’m doing it with a a sound understanding of what makes me tick and what I want out of it. In the words of my homegirl Elsa (I’m now listening to Frozen. And I don’t care. Hashtag no shame)- ‘It’s time to see what I can do, to test the limits and break through. No right, no wrong, no rules for me. I’m free’.

So now it’s time to get my body to match how I’m feelin’ on the inside. And by every indication, I should be getting closer and closer. There’s just one problem.

The scale.

That piece of rhinoceros excrement refuses to let me get out of a number plateau that I’ve been at since CHRISTMAS. Yeah, like 4 months ago. I was so close to the 170’s at Christmas, I could almost taste it. Or not taste it, I guess, for the sake of this topic. But then something happened and I just stopped going down. I am in a constant state of flux between 187lbs and 181lbs. I track what I eat on the reg to make sure I’m not going nuts with my almonds and cashews (PUN!) and other Paleo deliciousness, and even with my cheat meals (or days, who are we kidding?), I’m not consuming so many calories that I would gain 6 lbs and then lose it. That’s just ridiculous. But still, it’s the most frustrating thing ever. When we are judged at the doctors, in the media, by our health insurance for that damn number on that even damneder scale, not seeing it at a healthy digit is disheartening. Why is it that we let ourselves feel good or bad based on a number? When we’re all different human beings with different genetic makeups, why do we let a uniform reading get us down? Why is there so much emphasis on a number? One of my friends is 160 pounds, has a stomach as flat as 4 day old pop, and can run circles around just about anyone. But her insurance wants to charge her more because they’re calculating her BMI on her weight, and thus her overall health. How craptastic is that? We really need to take a hard look at what constitutes healthy in this country, from food to health indicators. I mean, there is not an ounce of fat on this girl, but because of a number, she’s almost considered unhealthy for her height. Does anyone else see the BS in this, or is it just me?

We’ve all heard the same thing- we shouldn’t be using it as the only indicator of success, but it’s so hard not to. When it is starting to get me down though, I try to focus on the good that I’ve seen, measurements, milestones, progress. This week I had some milestones- I got through a WOD from hell without dying- score. Yesterday I went to open gym and my one and only love CFTB where I PR’d my back squat at 155#- Score. LLD was watching this happen- double score. I PR’d my power clean at 85# with 15 reps- GOOOOAAAAALLLLLLLLL with Coach Sam making sure my form was stellar (by the way, she is ridiculously fast with snatches, and pretty much every other OLY lift. Don’t believe me? Check out these videos and see for yourself. It’s amazing). And my size 12 jeans are starting to get a little loose (PS- why the hell can’t all pants be the same size and FIT THE SAME DAMN WAY?). So that’s all wonderful, and I’m super happy about this progress. My stomach even deflated some this week, so now I look about 14 weeks pregnant, as opposed to 5 months, and my arm is becoming a pretty solid mass of muscle.  PROGRESS!  

I just want it to all match up. The weight, the clothes, the badassery. I want all things to come together to equal one fit me. And while I’m trying to not let it get me down, I would love to take my scale out to a nice seafood dinner, and then never call it again.

Dorothy Mantooth is a saint!

If you know what that’s from, you get 2 points.


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