Perhaps it was the grogginess I felt this morning after my husband left for the office at 5 a.m. Perhaps it was the fact that I'm in a good mood, as it's Friday. Whatever the reason, I decided to step on the scale this morning. I've been avoiding it like the plague.
The scale doesn't lie. Especially not when you use a purple, five-pound dumbbell to test its accuracy first.
So in an effort to 'fess-up to my past eight months of sloth and gluttony, I present you my results: 149. That's up 11 pounds from where I was when Scott and I moved eight months ago. And 11 pounds on my short 5'3" frame is visible. What's more, I'm running out of clothes. All my jeans are snug in the hips and waist and uncomfortable.
But I'm not going to focus on that. I'm going to choose to focus on the positive. Like the fact that I've been doing my workouts every night. And I've been more conscious of my food choices. And I've been drinking more water.
The way I see it, you can choose to focus on the past or the future--and the past only keeps you at the same place or behind where you are now.
I didn't put that weight on in a month and it won't come off in a month either. Patience isn't a virtue I posses a lot of, but it's going to have to be something I strive to find.
I can say that it feels good to come clean. I've definitely been in a bit of denial about my weight gain. So now that I have that out in the open, I think it's time to move on.
Here's to health, happiness and the peace a $5 bathroom scale can bring you when you are willing to accept what it tells you. (And how you got there)