Maybe it is the fact that I turn 50 in 6 weeks. Maybe I’m so tired of fretting over what I will weigh every day. But as I think about what the first 50 years has brought me I am beginning to see a few things that I don’t want to take with me into the next 50. I’m faced with the reality that I have to leave a few things behind that didn’t work for me for 1/2 a century. Slow coach that I am I figured out today that one of those things is the longest relationship I have ever had.
Why would I write about a scale the same way I would a relationship with an individual? Because I have such a sick co-dependent relationship with it. What I have weighed every day since I was 11 has had the ability to make me happy, sad, affected what I have done during the day and what I have not. I learned at a young age that this thing in the bathroom was all powerful and no matter how good I was there were days that I am still letting it down because my weight stays the same or goes up.
Today I am done. I was sitting at home today in my usual Sunday funk worried about the scale reading 5+ pounds more than it did 3 days ago. Probably because of the pizza I had last night and all the water I drank and I know better than to know it was fat. But the scale said so! It said I weighed 242 pounds so I am a big fat pig of a person that doesn’t deserve anything good.
It was about that time I got out of my chair and did some PiYo. If you don’t know what PiYo is, it is a Beach Body yoga/pilates workout. I’m not a Beach Body coach by any stretch and don’t even fall into the whole Beach Body lifestyle, I just happen to like the workout. So I did some of that and then I went and drove to my favorite area of Des Moines, a lake that I learned to run at a few years ago. I walked for 2 miles and it was glorious. It was there that I realized I had to break up with the scale. I was feeling so good about my walk but if I had gotten on the scale then my mood would have gone south. I want to start focusing on how I feel not how I THINK I should feel based upon some arbitrary number from the liar that lives in my bathroom.
I picked up my scale and something erupted in me. I banged that scale hard against the wall and I heard the scale crack. I took it outside and banged it against my apartment building and one of the pieces came off. I didn’t realize until then how angry I have been at the scale. I then walked over, threw it in the trash and there it stays….abandoned, never to come back and never to have another one in my life. I start today, on the precipice of 50 new years to own my life based on how I feel and NOT in the shadow of a piece of metal from Walmart.