I used to dread its coming like dreading a pap smear -- a necessary evil but one I hate just the same. And now, I look forward to Sundays so I can track my progress and get inspiration to continue my epiphany for another week.
I still keep my scale buried in the closet. Not to avoid its taunting gaze but to keep me from getting on it daily to see how I’m doing. No one needs that kind of pressure. So every Sunday morning I dig it out, strip (every pound counts), and merrily hop on.
I gained *gasp* a whole .1 pound.
I laughed gaily, bounced off the scale, buried it in my closet again and nonchalantly continued about my day. So what the pounds didn’t come off this week. They never do “this week” if you get my meaning and I know every week I can’t lose an average of five pounds. Besides the proof is in the fact that the jeans I bought last month are starting to get baggy and I work out with weights three times a week. Muscle weighs more than fat -- which is my mantra.
And even though I’ve gained weight *snicker* I’m still inspired to continue on my journey for two simple reasons: I haven’t felt this great or looked this good in YEARS.