These days I try not to weigh myself too often. It’s just a depressing process, full of building myself up and only being let down. Perhaps if my clothes started fitting more loosely, i’d be more inclined to suck it up and step on the scale just to see if I got pleasantly surprised- but let’s be honest.. that hasn’t happened in a LONG time.
While i’ve still been dieting and exercising, I have noticed absolutely NO difference in the way I look, feel, or how my clothes fit. If anything, i’m feeling more disgusting, bloated, and fluffy than ever.
And when you think about how your weight is effected after the holiday season? All you envision is stepping on the scale and it spinning out of control because it just can’t handle your fat lardy pumpkin pie filled ass.
This morning I got the strong urge to weigh myself after exercising, just to see what the damage was. I know what my last weight was, a LONG time ago.. so I expected it to be much higher. Not just because of holiday eating, but also because of how i’ve been feeling and looking lately.
Imagine my shock and surprise when I stepped on the scale and it came in ELEVEN pounds lighter than I expected, and 4 pounds under my last recorded weight.
I stepped off and checked the calibration.. rubbed my eyes, and got back on again. Same weight.
My first thought was that the scale HAS to be broken. It’s not a fancy scale.. and it’s always been off from when I get weighed at the OBGYN.. something had to be up. No way in HELL was my weight that small. My clothes would fit much better. I wouldn’t feel so nasty all the time when I put on my clothes and they squish my chunk around.
It’s funny that I posted a status update on Facebook about how my scale MUST be lying and everyone assumed I meant that the number was HUGE instead of small.
I think it’s just trying to trick me. Stupid scale. It wants me to get my hopes up and in a week when I step on, BAM, twenty extra pounds added on.
Really the more logical reasoning is that muscle weighs more than fat.. and I must have NO muscle and a lot of flab. That’s certainly how it feels.
In the end the number on the scale means nothing to me. It’s all about how I feel, and how I look in my clothes- and regardless of the number, I still don’t feel good about myself- so much to my dismay there’s still a lot of work to be done.
A story for any mom who has ripped the ass out of her pants because she hasn't replaced them in forever, using the excuse "well the kids need pants more than me" holdinholden.com/2018/02/i-ri…
Acting like they're never coming back. pic.twitter.com/MknDuwtDtm
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I Ripped the Ass out of my Pants goo.gl/fb/fcStPt
@BrentWalshITM Your show in RVA is the first time considering taking one of my minis to a rock show and I figured you'd know better than any- safe for a 10 yr old or wait a few years? He loves y'all but I don't think he can handle a thrashing
My kids do this funny thing where they give me all kinds of attitude in the morning while forgetting I have access to their toothbrushes while they're at school.