I know what you're thinking: What an emo title. What a great read for my Tuesday morning. Stay with me, I promise I will make some sort of sense.
If any of you know me or have read my blog for any given amount of time, you probably know that I'm always on some sort of diet. I'm always scoping out the next meal plan or fitness routine. It is a struggle. My weight has been a constant force the past few years, a force to be reckoned with. A force that I cannot allow to sway my days any longer.
I've been on a new plan and going to the gym very consistently as of late and I feel awesome. I feel awesome until the fateful time I step on the scale every week, only to be hit with the same darn number. My muscle mass is going up, my fat mass is going down, but still no budge. Not even a smidgen. It stares back at me like something that has been etched long ago into cement, never to change or morph.
I'm sick of staring at that scale. I don't want to any more. I want to wake up every morning knowing that I'm feeding my body extremely well, taking care of it, lifting my weights, and sweating my butt off. That's all I need. That's really all I want.
I still want to be a loser though. A loser of pounds. A gainer of muscle, confidence, and strength. My jeans are buttoning easier than they used to and I've had to wear a belt with my favorite blue jeans. I am not only a number. I am a strong women that is taking this one step at a time.
As I was cooking my meals for the week last night, it really hit me. No more scale. No more measuring. No more stressing out and feeling miserable. Just living and breathing, sweating and enduring. That's it. Healthy meals, healthy habits, kick butt workouts.
Simply put this morning: I want to be a loser. But, the scale and I are going to break up for a while.
And I feel totally alright with that.