17 February 2011

only a number...really.

Why is it that a piece of equipment can have so much effect on how we feel about ourselves?

I'm seeing my family doctor this morning for a checkup. Every time I'm in his office with one of the boys, he says "You know, you really should come in for an appointment." And I say "Yes, Doc, I will" and I leave his office without making an appointment.

The last time I saw him for myself, it was actually my hip pain that drove me to his office. Well, the car drove me, or rather, I drove the car.....geesh, you know what I mean. That was a year ago last October.

I hate going into his office for myself because I hate the "getting on the scale" part. When I said as much to a dear friend this week, she said "That's the reason I don't usually look." That stupid scale has to be loaded with either lead or bricks, it seems to always be heavier than my home scale.

And the number is always too high.

Then there's the matter of me being in his office for the hip pain and Doc saying to me "You know, if you lost weight, you will find that maybe you don't have as much trouble." And don't tell him, but I have found that 20+ pounds lighter, I am having less trouble with my sciatic pain. It's not gone altogether and probably won't be when I get to "goal", but it is lessened.

But there's that number.

Part of me doesn't want to look. That part knows that if it's anything more than 169 (or less), I'm gonna cry all the way home. That part knows that when my home scale went in the trash a month ago, the number was 174 and by no means would only a five pound loss be acceptable in a month. That part will be the super loud voice in my head that taunts me to "just give up" again. That part would therefore, most likely, eat that pint of ice cream in the freezer and then feel worse. And vow to "never get on the treadmill again, it didn't work anyway."

That part's pretty dominate, can you tell? Stupid.

The other part of me wants to see. I have been busting my butt for the last eight and a half freaking weeks. No less than four workouts a week; cardio and weights and sometimes both in the same day.

My pant size (at least my work pants) changed, I'm able to wear smaller shirts, and it'll be really soon that I have to go shopping for smaller bras. (I've been putting the bra shopping off but sooner or later, it's gonna be a necessity.)

Shouldn't that translate into the smaller number on the scale? You'd think so, huh?

To be honest, I'll probably cry all the way home either way.

2 comments:

Helen said...

It is amazing the power that number holds over us, isn't it? No matter how hard I've tried, I've never been able to be fully satisfied with just how my clothes feel. I always, eventually, end up focused on that "number" again. :(

Wife of Keith said...

Bra shopping is detestable!!!
But a must if you are going to keep the girls looking in tip top shape!
I also am being held hostage by the number. Should we form a support group?