nine pounds. continued.

I saw Mr. S. this weekend.  (we are not on a first-name basis, nor will we ever be for that matter)  I hadn't stepped on him since my doctors appointment and hadn't even stepped on one for months before that.  My heart jumped, my stomach dropped, my mind kept asking, "Do you really want to do that?"  I replied with, "Yes."  So I stepped on, held my breath, closed my eyes, mustered up some courage, and looked down.

What I saw?  The same weight as always, plus a pound.  (I say it's a pound of love, but it's most likely from my birth control or that box of lemon girl scout cookies in the cabinet.)  Hm.  So either A- I lost 8 pounds in 2 weeks (highly unlikely for a girl my size) or B- the scale was wrong earlier.  Either way, I realized a few things in this entire process...

First, my weight shouldn't define me or my self-worth.  

Second, I never want to own a scale.  It is dangerous and obsessive (for me).  I'd rather go without it and judge myself off the way I feel and whether or not my clothes fit comfortably.

Third, it doesn't really matter, does it?  I feel pretty good, I am healthy, and I exercise.  

Fourth, I should lay off the lemon cookies once in a while.

Fifth, biking to and from my errands is a must.

And last but definitely not least, I am glad I posted nine pounds.  We weren't made to do life alone.