okay, that feels good to get off my chest. though. if you know me, you probably already knew that fun fact.
anyway, the reason that i bring that up is because i did something controversial - for some - yesterday. i bought a new scale. and then this happened:
just got a paper cut opening the box of my new scale. I knew these motherfuckers were dangerous.why is this controversial, do you ask? well, because a lot of people think that weight isn't what matters most. how you feel/look in your clothes/whatever your personal guidepost is what is important. and to a degree, i agree. (ooh, rhyming!) however, i've learned that for me to be successful, i need to be accountable. and the best way to make sure i do it? by weighing in.
— Betsy Connors (@yournewbff) January 6, 2014
i have struggled with my weight my entire life. hell, i came out of the womb a hefty 10.1 lbs (sorry mom). i have been on and off diets for as long as i can remember. while always active - kickball in grade school, volleyball in high school, general life now - i still managed to always be a couple sizes bigger than the rest of the girls in the class. and for the most part, it didn't bother me much. but there were days where i wanted to shop at 5/7/9, and i have never in my life have i been a single digit size. nor will i ever be again. it's not in hand i was dealt. i get boobs and but for days instead, so i think it's an even trade.
i've done a couple of significant weight losses in my life: once in high school and once after college. the one in high school was mostly because i wanted to play collegiate volleyball and i needed to drop some weight to look more desirable to schools. it was the skinniest i have ever been in my "adult" life. realistically, it is not feasible for me to get down to that size again.
the one after college was different. after discovering the deliciousness in beer and all night pizza delivery in college, i put on all the weight i lost in high school - plus another truckload or so. i was living at home in south florida, working at a job i liked, but didn't love, in a city i didn't care for with only a couple of friends to hang out with. i threw myself into healthy eating and obsessive working out - and it worked. i dropped an olsen twin over the course of the year. and i looked great. but i wasn't happy.
shortly after, i realized my life goal of moving to nyc and life got better. i got a job in marketing at a magazine, i made amazing friends and have a city as my playground. there's always something to do here: a new bar, a new restaurant, a new show. i wanted to take everything in and i didn't want to miss out. and when you start making plans with people you care about, it becomes extremely easy to forget about going to the gym. when you're drinking until 3 in the morning, there's the requisite pizza before bed and greasy brunch in the morning. so in the 4 years i've been here, i've put back on a good chunk of what i discarded before i got here. and i'm finally ready to take it off - for good.
i was thinking back to those two key times and realized what was the factor in making it happen: weekly weigh-ins. every week at the same time (first thing in the morning right after you pee), in basically the same clothes (stark naked, obvi) on the same day, I would step on the scale, and write my number down in a book. and that book was the FUCKING LAW! sometimes i would even step on the scale daily, just to keep myself in check. it didn't count unless it was the official day, but it would remind me that every decision counts.
i've cried on a scale too many times to count, but i know that for me to make sure this sticks, it's what i have to do. i'm not a masochist or anything, but sometimes you have to hurt before you feel good. (wait, isn't that the masochist motto? oops.)
since i'm a lady, i won't be weighing and telling, since that IS masochistic. instead i will be stepping onto the scale and into my new regimen. but first, i need to put neosporin on my paper cut.