You know those people who decide that they are going to lose weight, and it seems like all they have to do is stare at gym equipment for a few minutes, and they magically transform? It happens to men a lot. “Wow, you’ve lost weight, what’s your secret?” Then they say they’ve taken up cycling or cut out a few calories. A change, but nothing too difficult. The weight just floats away into the air.
Three weeks ago I decided to make a change. This time I want it to stick. I’ve had four babies, lost about 20-30 pounds between each one. But I have not pushed myself to my pre-mommy weight. This sort of change would require me to shed 50-60 pounds. That is the truth of the matter. These past three weeks I have proved that I really want this. I dragged myself to they gym six times per week. I held my head up high as BY FAR the largest woman in a bootcamp style class full of athletic females that would otherwise make me cower and run the other way because, I’m not worthy. Not this time. It doesn’t matter how much I jiggle, sweat, moan. Not even the lady who the other week said, “You should start on a lower level,” after sizing me up before a tough interval, can stop me. Because she doesn’t know what I am capable of. My size 16 bottom can sweat just as well as hers.
These last three weeks I’ve gotten real about my eating. I’ve uncorked the emotional bottle. And of course the cork in this case is comprised of a wide variety of satisfying, sugary, salty, processed foods. Nothing keeps emotions in check like a candy bar. But not now. I’ve felt my feelings instead of eat them up. I’ve counted calories and consumed very little processed foods while not starving myself. I want to do this right. Then I stepped on the scale. After three weeks of working very, very hard.
I lost one pound.
Part of me wanted to smash the gym scale to the floor and then punch every skinny-fit girl in that locker room and scream “WHY????” It was the part of me that hated everyone for their success. It was the part of me that wanted to give up and sit in my car at Chick Fil A and devour large-sized fried deliciousness. Oh and a milkshake. Because apparently my body just doesn’t know how to do it. But that’s not how it went down. All the skinny-fit girls where quite unharmed. And there’s not a scrap of fast food litter in my car to tell of my sins. I stepped off the scale, breathed, and thought to myself, “That’s a good start, I’ll take it.”
When the scale just doesn’t seem to move, when you’ve done everything right, what is there left to consider? Lots of things. Here’s what I need to keep in mind:
I just had a baby, two months ago
My hormones are wacky after baby. I usually gain weight during this time. My thyroid is sluggish. Making a human does crazy things to a girl, and those crazy things won’t turn off overnight.
Get off the darn scale
When you’re motivated, it is so easy to obsess. Numbers are very concrete things. There’s no arguing with a number. So you play a game and weigh yourself daily like a crazy person. Don’t do that. It’s crazy. Step on the scale once a week, at the very most. I may have to limit myself to once a month.
Choose another measuring stick
Yes numbers are difficult to argue with. But there are other benefits of making a life change. I have so much energy I’m not eating foods that pull me down, make me feel sluggish. I look and feel different in my clothes. I know I’m losing inches, and gaining muscle. I need to celebrate that.
Rome wasn’t built overnight
I think that’s how it goes. A healthy change is not a fad diet that melts fat overnight. It takes time. It takes months. I need to be patient with my progress.
Yes, I’ve lost one pound. But that needs to be good enough for now. Because I really want to chase my kids around without getting burned out. I want to hold my shoulders back and be proud of my body. I can do this. I can do this one pound at a time.