Welp, I've already broken one of the rules I'd set for myself during this time of transition: I weighed myself.
There I was in the locker room, fresh off a superb workout and feeling good about myself that I'd put so many of my learnings from my trainer into practice on my own. But out of my peripheral vision, it called to me, like a siren beckoning a sailor to join her in the sea...(dun dun DUNNNHHH) THE SCALE!
I was drawn to it as if in a trance. It had me in its tractor beam. I was about to be taken aboard the mothership whether I liked it or not. I stepped on, and made a mental note that the person who'd weighed themselves before me weighed 118, which is my goal weight (what kind of crazy person weight-stalks the other weighers?! ME! Side note: I also LOVE finding discarded ATM receipts and seeing out how much more cash random people have in their checking accounts than I do...I'm a nosy bitch. It's a sickness.).
I had just guzzled some delicious water, and–you'll excuse the euphemism–I wasn't, ahem, advantageously evacuated. Hence, I weighed 128. I generally say I weigh 125, which, most mornings, I do. However, I not infrequently weigh myself at night and in the morning and discover a 3 or 4 pound difference. I don't know how this is physically possible, but it happens. This random morning/night/water weight/poop weight fluctuation was the exact trap I was trying to avoid by vowing to not weigh myself till the end of March (when ACTUAL weight loss may be reflected).
Alas, I am weak. On my walk to work, I started to reflect a little on weight, scales, numbers, and how our society programs us ALL to care about something as insignificant as a 3-pound (most likely colon-related) weight "gain." I remember back in grade school, if I got a 90 on a test or essay, I'd be disappointed that it wasn't a higher NUMBER–never mind the fact that it was a grade A!
It's completely unreasonable to expect that after roughly three weeks of working out (two, really), I'd be dropping weight left and right. Yes, it happens on the Biggest Loser, but those are people who are dramatically changing their habits, and furthermore have HUNDREDS of pounds to lose–not just a few. It is, however, absolutely logical to think that, in 8 more months, given willpower and consistency, that I will reach my goal by my wedding. But everything inside of me screams, WHY AREN'T YOU CHANGING FASTER?!??!??!
I wish I could channel an inner calm, a Zen, that would let me just take a deep breath and say, with confidence, "You have plenty of time. Don't rush it." I used to have a teacher at the Creative Circus who would always say, "Enjoy the process," meaning, it's hard, but you have to love the work to love the outcome. I saw a thing on Pinterest the other day that said (something like), "Remember, it takes 4 weeks for exercise to start changing your body, 8 weeks for you to start seeing results, and 12 weeks for other people to start noticing results."
I'm 10 weeks shy of other people noticing. And I'm going to focus on enjoying the process.
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