As part of my New Years resolution to reclaim my formerly stylish self, I decided to finally get serious about losing some weight. It seemed like a good first step to feel better about myself, as well as to get back into my formerly stylish clothes.
So I went to Costco and bought myself a scale (which have been forbidden in my house for years), printed up some monthly calendars to track my progress, and got to work.
My first day I walked on the treadmill for 30 minutes and then couldn’t walk anymore for the next two days.
It was unbelievably discouraging to discover exactly how out of shape I was, and really REALLY tempting to just stop right there and get used to being that way. But I knew I couldn’t let myself be satisfied with such a low level of ability. So I switched my thinking entirely. Now instead of “working out,” I’m doing physical therapy. Weight loss stopped being the goal for a while, physical ability became much more important.
Imagine my delight when I’d step on the scale every morning and it said I weighed about half a pound less than the day before. After two weeks it said I lost nearly ten pounds! I thought that finally, after a whole life of unsuccessful exercise and lack of athletic ability, things were actually coming together. I was doing it. Until the next day when it told me I gained 20 pounds. And then when I stepped off and stepped back on it told me I had gained another 2. The whole thing was scale error. I will not lie. I bawled like a pouting child.
I have to keep reminding myself what this poor body has been through. Surgeries, hormones, medications, traumatic birth. In a six month span of treatment (that didn’t include a pregnancy) I lost 30 pounds and then gained 50. Not that I know about these kinds of things, but I can’t imagine that my metabolism is functioning optimally.
After a solid month of exercise every day, I have lost one pound. But it certainly doesn’t take me two days to recover from a walk anymore, so that’s what I’m trying to hang on to.