If you’ve been reading long enough you know that I have a flair for the dramatic.
I was super bummed on Friday when I gained weight instead of losing it. I’ve fluctuated several times but this time was a big deal because I was SO close to getting out of the 200 weight zone.
I don’t want to weigh more than 200 pounds any more… it hurts my feelings.
Over the weekend I trudged on per usual. Then this morning I stepped on the scale again just to check to see if the damage had gone away yet. That’s when I saw that I weighed 203.
I came downstairs wearing my frowny face. Brent asked me what was wrong and I cried. Brent pointed out how stupid I was being. He reminded me that I shouldn’t let the scale dictate how I felt about myself. He was right, and the fact that he was right made me even angrier.
Why did he have to be right? I just wanted to be mad and feel sorry for myself for a minute.
“Besides, you’re probably about to start your period or something. That makes you retain water weight, right? You can’t rely on the scale.”
*Note: If you are a man and your wife/girlfriend/daughter is acting crazy never tell her she’s about to start her period… even if she is about to start her period.
Brent doesn’t sugar coat anything. I’ve always weighed more than the average woman. He always points out that I’m just a big woman… as you can imagine this never really goes over so well.
But once again he’s right. I’m a big Scandinavian woman… I’ve got some crazy viking blood running through my veins and I was never meant to be a waif. I will never be able to feint weakness because I was made to throw cows over my shoulder and drop kick people who piss me off.
I would have never made it as a princess.
I’ve always been this way. Back in highschool when I played competitive soccer the boys called me “haus” because I was stronger than they were. (This was early in highschool when puberty wasn’t an equal opportunity event). They had little chicken legs and I had muscular legs.
I didn’t want to have bigger legs than the boys!
I was so embarrassed and I thought they were making fun of me when they called me “haus”. I would be in the weight room and my coach would tell me to lift more and I wouldn’t for fear of getting even stronger. I thought that meant I would blow up and look like a man.
What I didn’t know was that this look is impossible achieve without the use of steroids… or a penis.
I had no idea that being strong could be so beautiful until I started crossfit.
In this new world I found that being called a “beast” was actually a good thing.
I learned to quit fighting my natural inclination for strength and instead to embrace it.
So that is why I should feel really stupid for getting pouty over a number on the scale. It really doesn’t matter.
When I first started this journey I couldn’t stand the way I felt in my own skin. That icky feeling of wearing layers of fat that didn’t belong to me prompted me to take action.
These days I’m walking around the house in my booty shorts and flexing my muscles every time I walk past a mirror. When I move I feel strong and capable. There isn’t anything that I’m afraid to do in the gym.
If I had no idea how much I weighed then I would feel really freaking awesome. Unfortunately, that ignorant insecure fifteen year old girl still resides in me and every now and then she pops up and freaks out when she sees an arbitrary number on the scale.
After Brent and I had our little discussion he reminded me of how strong I am and how strong I am capable of being. I went to the gym and did my thing and felt better instantly.
By the way, while writing this blog post I looked up the definition for “haus” and I found the following…
1) Something supremely awesome.
2) A term given to a person who is amazing in all aspects of life.
3) To be ridiculously good at something.
Why didn’t I know about this earlier?!
P.S. After promising myself I would only use the scale for official weigh-ins I took one last peek and weighed in at 200.8… water weight is such a bitch.