So hi. I'm mad.
I've been saying stuff about how I'm all trying to be accepting of myself and everything and really. I'm trying. Really.
I joined this ShapeUp team at work. Great, right? Our challenge is to walk 8000 steps a day, exercise 140 minutes a week, and maybe something about weight. I don't know. There's a really strong chance I wasn't paying that much attention.
Because I'm super embarrassingly competitive and also because I think it's a really good idea to try to be healthy, I've been taking this challenge really seriously (other than paying attention to whether or not there is any component to the weight loss part, obviously). I've been using my pedometer all the time (don't tell anyone but I clip to my underwear when I'm wearing a dress). I monitor and track all my food. I've been killing it, seriously. Really busting both my literal and figurative ass.
My scale is under my sink instead of sitting out on the bathroom floor. I have this really horrible habit of stepping on the darn thing every single time I go into the bathroom. Which is a lot. I drink so much that my grandma asked me recently if I'd been tested for the diabetes. So I hid the scale because that was a good idea for my own sanity.
I told myself that I'd weigh at the end of the challenge, which is eight weeks. But I'd been doing SO well that I decided I'd just go ahead and sneak a peek. I mean, why not? I've been doing all the right things. I've been getting more than 8000 steps a day and more than 140 minutes of exercise a week. I've been waking up hungry, which is unheard of for me. NO BANANAS IN MY HOME HAVE GONE BAD. IN LIKE THREE WEEKS. That? Is crazy.
So I took out the scale and stepped on it. I was actually pretty excited because I knew I'd been doing so great and I was looking forward to actually feeling proud of myself.
The scale said I'd gained a pound.
I might or might not have shouted at the scale, "YOU SHUT YOUR WHORE MOUTH!" I cannot confirm.
A pound. I said no to ice cream and walked six thousand steps before the first call of the day in ridiculous heat and cleaned up like twelve bags of Ginger's poo and had to buy new shoes because I wore the other ones out and they were giving me huge blisters on my heels and I GAINED A FRACKING POUND?!?!
That makes me mad. So mad I can hardly breathe.
I know. I'm evolved past that. I've lost more than a hundred pounds. I dress to fit my shape and my body. I AM GETTING STUPID EXERCISE and I know that no matter what the scale says it does my body good to get exercise. I don't have the diabetes, despite the copious amounts of water/Diet Pepsi I consume daily. I don't have high blood pressure or sleep apnea. I don't fear a stroke or a heart attack. There are good things about walking. About trying. I get that.
What I don't get is why the bastard scale showed I'd gained a pound. That is what I don't get.
So today? I'm mad. I'm mad at the scale. I'm mad that I tried so hard and I'm even further from where I want to be. I'm mad that I can never give myself the credit that I deserve for doing this for SO! DARN! LONG! and not giving up even though I really, really want to sometimes. It is so difficult to become the person I know I can be or what the crap ever, if MY STUPID BODY DOESN'T EVER FREAKING COOPERATE.
So today I'm just going to be mad about it. You can't talk me out of it either.
My new shoes are still going on my feet. My pedometer is still clipped to my shorts. I'm still going to keep freaking trying.
I'm just going to be mad about it for right now.