A couple of weeks ago I weighed myself for the first time in nearly 10 years. Not as high as I had feared, nor as low as I hoped. I decided on a goal weight, just a few pounds away. Then I enjoyed a several day-long birthday celebration with much indulging. Lost a half pound. Was pretty good for a week, lost another pound. Each time I weighed myself, the number was lower. Until yesterday.
I decided that every three to four days would be a good weigh-in schedule. Yesterday was a fourth day and OMG! I gained nearly 2 pounds!!! Must be a mistake. Step off, check to see if I had any clothes or rapper-style heavy gold chains on (nope), step back on. Same. I gained. I thought back to the days when my husband would suffer a small gain. I would make light of it and call him a fat-ass or suggest he was simply retaining water. Funny stuff until it happened to me.
Coincidentally, my BodyStep instructor shared a fable this morning.
A girl dedicated herself to fitness. By spring, she is in good shape, visiting the gym regularly. In June, she can wear a bikini and all is good with the world. She takes the Fourth of July week off to celebrate. Then the rest of July since she had worked so hard. In August, she decided to enjoy what was left of summer. Then September came (it always does) and she had to put on jeans. Moral of the story: If you are going to skip workouts in the summer, don't lose your yoga pants, you'll need them in September when your jeans don't fit.
I don't want to be that girl. I am so glad I have starting weighing in. Like my bank account balance, the scale don't lie. I am paying the price for living large (ha ha). 2 pounds isn't the end of the world but 2 will turn to 4, will turn to 6. Today I savored grilled chicken and veggies for dinner. I'm back on track and it's good.