So yesterday, Wednesday was a pool day. I felt great, I mean like insanely great. I was fast, I was efficient, I didn't tire...did 1500 yd yesterday woot woot. And ironically enough I didn't feel like I really "pushed" myself to where I thought I would be hurting in the morning, but of course, I was hurting this morning.. not bad but my thigh muscles kept locking up on me as I sat at my desk job all day long.
I wake up this morning feeling all good because I've been tracking my food (for the most part.... most of the time I forget to write something down in a day...and I seem to fall off track on weekends...ugh weekends, my other Achilles heel) I get on the scale thinking "oh I'm sure I've lost at least 2 pounds (I haven't weighed myself in a few weeks) Nope... GAIN. Three Pounds.
W.T.F.
My scale and I are in a fight right now. I'm not speaking to it. Actually I'm quite mad at it. I don't understand how one can work their ass off, track ninety eight percent of what they are eating and still post a gain. (:Tangent: -Weekends the weekends are my Achilles heel- I forget to include half the shit I eat on the weekends-not that I'm bad on the weekends, I just have so much to do in such a small time frame that by the time I get home and remember, I have forgotten what Ive eaten that day. And I definitely consume more calories on the weekend, than I do during the week but it's not like I'm out there binging like the hot-dog eating contest guys. But it's like Oh so and so wants to meet up this weekend, we haven't seen them in forever... dinner. Well, we are free this Saturday and we have no plans... what should we do.... movie. Man, I have a lot of homework this weekend, and Ive got to get out of the house, lets go to the bookstore..... Starbucks. So, its those effin sneaky little calories that are apparently killing me. I don't know.. it just pisses me off to no end. :end Tangent: )
I told myself that I wasn't going to look at the scale, because this has been going on for 2 years now. I swim and swim and swim and swim and swim til I practically have effing gills growing out of my neck- and I've been stuck at the same weight forEVER. The first 65 flew off. Now..here I am still stuck in tubby hood...posting a three pound gain after spending two weeks swim bike running. I hate it.
So, I am breaking up with my scale until October 1st. Depending on how this works out, we'll see if the once a month thing will be regular or if I will just break up with my scale for good.
The scale and I have never really had a great relationship anyway. It has always been a fear filled anxiety ridden experience for me for as long as I can remember. And actually, the year before my wedding, my now husband-then fiance- suggested we go on a diet together and to start that diet, we would have a public weigh in, so we each knew each others goals. I couldn't do it. I actually broke down into a hyperventilating crying mess. It freaked me out to no end to have him stand over the scale and look at it. And I don't think it really had to do with embarrassment over how much I weighed, because we'll we've both sort of gained weight together over the years.. but it brought so much flooding back from when I was a kid and I would have weekly weigh-ins. I remember I would have to get the scale out of the bathroom that was in our downstairs and bring it into the kitchen, next to the kitchen table so that my mom could see how much I weighed...and I would be petrified. There were numerous times where I would try and move the needle back into the negative, and hope she didn't notice when I stepped off the scale again. I don't really remember the consequences for gaining weight. My dad says my mom would hit me, but honestly I don't remember. And I'm not trying to accuse anyone of anything or let anyone off the hook for anything- it's literally a black spot.
I do remember getting dragged out of bed forcibly, sometimes by my hair, and sent into the basement to do Jane Fonda while my mom drove my sister to school. For the first couple days, afraid that she would turn around and come back to spot check me, I would do it... but eventually when I knew she wasn't going to spot check me or have a hidden camera anywhere I would shut off the tape and watch cartoons for forty minutes, and then fast forward the tape 40 minutes, and make like I had been working out the whole time when she would come home from dropping her off and make like I'd been doing it the whole time.
When the Jane Fonda workouts failed, I was shipped off to fat camp in California. After the Monika Lewinsky book came out, and she says she was sent to fat camp as well, my mom insists that we were at the same one, that she remembers me calling home complaining about a mean older girl named Monika. *shrugs* I don't remember that either, but I was only 9.
At nine, I wasn't really a tragically heavy kid either...I'm sure had I been in an encouraging family instead of a discouraging family, I may have turned out normal...well fairly normal anyway.
Alright, that's enough of a trip down memory lane for the night.
~Millie
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