It’s funny. I don’t want to weigh myself. My weight, sadly, still seriously influences how I go about my day and how I feel about myself. I know I’m heavy and I’m going to continue to assume I’m heavy until I start fitting smaller pant sizes. I would rather measure my waist than step on a scale. That number hurts. Even when it was far lower.
That number makes me not want to eat. It makes me want to binge. It makes me want to restrict calories. It makes me want to cry. Scream. Run. Run for hours until my feet are raw and my legs and chest are on fire.
I don’t want to look a scale. I see it every time I walk down the hallway and into the kitchen. It just sits there with my height and gender programmed into it, waiting for me to step on it and ruin my self-esteem.
I don’t want my self-worth to be defined by my weight for the day. Or midday. Or evening. Or after I went to the restroom. Or ate.
That’s why I rather focus on my fitness and what I am able to do physically than to step on a scale. My weight doesn’t mean a thing when it comes to how hard I can punch or kick. It doesn’t mean a thing when I can run, cycle, or get through a P90x video. At least I’m not sitting on a couch or sleeping through the day.
At least I’m doing something many people cannot or won’t do.
Applause and Whistles 