Some perspective here – on Monday it was unseasonably warm here. That made it 105 degrees warmer than it was exactly 8 weeks ago that day. Yes I said 105 degrees warmer.
Isn’t that insane??
I have been avoiding the scale like the PLAGUE. I see Marc weigh in on it in the mornings and I want to run away from the thing like it is a gigantic spider.
I have not weighed myself since I had to at the MD appointment on 4/1 and the news was so bad I seriously just wanted to curl up in a fucking corner and cry.
But I was also in the midst at that time of feeling hopeless, powerless, scared and even like just jumping off a bridge. I believed I would never get warm and/or see the sunlight again. If you’ve never felt that feeling of just unreasonable desperation then I envy you!
But this week, I’ve been turning it around. I’ve been running. 32 miles so far this week! Today I ran in a TANK TOP – and I wasn’t cold! I’ve lifted weights. I’ve stood and just STARED like a freak at the sun. I’ve hung out with the dogs outside and thrown a tennis ball for them.
I’ve felt hope!
So I really don’t have an excuse to not face the reality of the scale. The number will undoubtedly horrify me. But I don’t know that it will send me into despair like it would have a few short weeks ago.
And yet? I don’t want to do it. It’s ridiculous. I want to continue to be in denial. It’s pathetic. So do I step on tomorrow or give myself the weekend and face it on Monday?