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McFatty Monday–What doesn’t kill us

Last week I turned over a new McFatty leaf. Instead of this being about the number on the scale, it’s about how I FEEL. It’s about feeling healthy. It’s about BEING healthy.

I’m not gonna lie.

Stepping on the scale this morning (after a HORRIFIC weekend of feeling whale-ish) and seeing that the number on the scale had not, in fact, budged from where it was a week ago was slightly depressing.

And as soon as the wave of self-defeating thoughts started to wash over me, I stepped off the scale and hopped on over to the mirror to confront the mountain growing out of my chin.

(I am all sorts of sunshine-y in the morning around here, y’all.)

But seriously. As soon as the wave washed over me, I let it go right back out to sea. And I reminded myself that IT’S NOT ABOUT THE SCALE.

It’s about how, after six weeks, I can tell a difference in my calves.

After six weeks, I don’t feel like my backside is jiggling like jelly when I’m on the elliptical.  Or, I just don’t care. But really, I know my butt isn’t jiggling as much.

After six weeks, I feel guilty when I don’t go to the gym. And not just because I’m paying for it. We had a membership at a super-swanky “health club” for nearly two years and do you know how many times I stepped foot in the place? About six. In two years.

That’s just sad.

But Friday, I made excuses not to go and do cardio.  I was on break! I wanted to go home and see Joshua and Dan! We were having salmon for dinner! It was Friday! The dog would need to pee!

Whatever. They were all excuses. And I ended up spending the whole weekend thinking “I should really just steal away for an hour and go to the gym.”  And I didn’t. I ate a burrito.

Last Monday, I met up with the trainer and we worked lower body and in the middle of that workout, I passed out. Or blacked out. Or something. I’m not sure what the difference is between those two things, but I know that I was not able to complete that workout. The trainer got me a Powerade and said “This happens to everyone.” And I heard “You are a loser who cannot finish a workout.”

Today, we worked lower body again and my.legs.were.screaming. And I did it. I finished. And when he said “Okay! 30 minutes of cardio before you go!” and I thought I was going to die. A full half an hour?!?!
But, because I am diligent, or determined, or just a glutton for punishment, I hopped back up on the elliptical and put in the headphones and went for it. I got to 10 minutes and thought “I could totally stop now…” and then I got to 15 and thought “Erin will be at the house soon…” And then I thought at 20 about how it wasn’t yet noon. And when I got to 25 minutes, Kanye started blaring in my headphones.

Now th- that that don’t kill me, can only make me stronger. I need you to hurry up now. Cause I can’t wait much longer.

After six weeks, I finally completed a full HOUR of working out today. And after completing that hour, I know that an hour is what I must do from now on. Because I KNOW that my limitations have increased and I KNOW that I’m capable of more than I was giving.

And that? Is what my thinking needs. Feel-good endorphins that remind me it’s not about the scale anymore.

It’s about feeling good and I? Feel GOOD.

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