Why I Won’t Weigh Myself

Anyone in my life kinda knows I’ve kinda gone cardio-crazy.

With anywhere from 6 to 12 hours of moderate-plus activity in any given week,  I’m working on it. Most of it’s because I’m cycling for commuting. Dialing in between 100 to 150 km of cycling per week on average, yeah, it’s becoming a “lifestyle” and not just exercise.

At first, it sucked, but then I started to feel Strong and Powerful, almost feeling like a “Jock” for the first time in my life, and I feel like that’s kinda hot for a girl who used to push the 300-pound mark.

It’s kinda awesome, actually, just from an inside-my-head perspective, never mind what others may think.

But I have food issues. I always have. I still do. I have this “thing” for bread. And, have we talked about butter? Oh, sweet baby. Buttah. Mm, butter it. Indeed.

So there’s that. There’s those, even. I’ve been off the charts with bread lately, so it’s a mindset I’m battling.

And it’s 25-plus years of habit-forming issues. Bad shit, man. Like a voodoo thang.

But I’m working on it and I keep improving, and my knowledge keeps growing, but the emotional issues reside. They’re there. It’s just my reality. I’ll probably always have a difficult time negotiating The World of Food without danger. Especially when life’s forcing my hand, or sure feels like it.

So, you know, shit happens. Not a lot of shit happens now, not as often. Maybe that’s just age, and the “been-there-done-that” mentality that comes from going around the block way too often.

This isn’t really about size or anything. It’s not about weight. It’s about me having an idea of the diet I want to be eating, just because I define it as truly “healthy”, and I’m not eating it. I’m eating better than I have for 90%+ of my life, and yet. Not quite there. Maybe I never will be, since, as a foodie, I refuse to give up some passions. Moderation. But indulgence follows close behind moderation, you know. Like a shadow, always looming. One step too far, you get swallowed up in it.

Exercise, I’ve got mostly down, and YAY me for doing so, ‘cos it ain’t no walk in the park. So, it’s part of the journey.

For me, it’s about achieving both. It’s not about “size 4″ or 6 or 8 . It’s not about appeasing the fashion gods or being off-the-rack-approved.

Fuck hot. Fuck cool. Fuck role model. Fuck it all.

THIS is about being healthy. This is about me doing this just for me, about how I feel 3 minutes after I’ve woken up, or the satisfaction I have when I hit the bed at night.

It’s about not having heart disease or diabetes, like my dad, or dying of cancer, like my mom and other family. It’s about not rolling over and playing dead for all my past injuries & fuck-ups. Not now, not at age 36. Not yet. Not soon. Not.

It’s about feeling strong, powerful, and healthy. It’s about me, not media, not conformity. Not you.

I can do better, and I will.

Until I’ve got BOTH in the same direction, a weigh-in isn’t happening. Because if I have success today, when I feel like I’m eating badly, it will permissively encourage me to eat just as badly in the future.

I don’t want to be skinny-fat and die anyways. What’s the fucking point of all this work, then?

Cholesterol counts. Qi counts. And a million other things all count.

I’ll weigh myself when I know food’s on page. Why? Because I know I’ve lost weight. I feel it everywhere I touch myself. My belly’s never had this kind of tone before. My thighs? Yowza.

Soon, everything will be on page. Soon, I can say I truly believe I’ve accomplished something great.

But right now I’m phoning it in and lucking out.

That’s not good enough.

My lifespan depends on it.

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This entry was posted in Autobiographical, Being me, Dimestore Philosophy, fitness, Hygiene & Health, Journalling, keeping it real, Opinion (Editorial & Commentary), Specifically Steff, weight loss and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Trackbacks are closed, but you can post a comment.
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