I pulled the scale out of the closet- where KC hides it from me. I stripped down after a decent 3 miler to see how much I weighed. I had not weighed myself in about 2 weeks and was sure the amount would be lower. Especially since the last time I weighed myself it was night time. “Haha scale, I have you now! A guaranteed loss I can plug into myfitnesspal” I thought to myself.
I was wrong. Terribly wrong. The number was higher than the last time I had weighed myself two weeks ago, at night…
Awkward, amirite? I mean I am burning thousands of calories per week working out, how the hell is it that I am not losing weight? In fact not only am I not losing, I seem to be gaining lbs.
I wish I could say that this does not bother me. That I know that I am getting fitter, stronger and faster so who gives a fuck what a scale says? This unfortunately is not how I am feeling at all. I am feeling really discouraged. I am feeling a bit like a failure.
I knew with marathon training I probably would not lose a ton of weight because I would be hangry all the time and need to refuel. But since I was starting out at a high weight for me, I assumed I would drop some. Especially since I am no longer have 1 3 glasses of wine every night.
I will not to binge- because that is my instinct; the whole black and white thinking pattern “If you aren’t going to lose weight trying, might as well not try”. I will drink more water. I will look at my food diary. I will tell myself that I am more toned. I will remind myself how lucky I am to have two working legs that let me run all these miles. I will listen to my husband when he tells me how sexy I look. I will not let one number on one scale define my mood or alter my actions.