On Sunday mornings I stumble out of bed and across the hall to the bathroom. The scale looms in the corner and calls me to step on. Sometimes I jump on with excitement, and sometimes I step on with a little self-doubt. The number I see there has the power to make or break my whole week. I'm already dreading the walk tomorrow.
This has not been a good week for me. Valentine's Day on Friday included a breakfast homemade by wonderful husband, lunch at a Mexican restaurant, and a rushed dinner at Qdoba. I also went to see Disney on Ice, where I almost single-handedly consumed a bag of cotton candy. Today Billy and I decided to buy ourselves a box of half-price Valentine's candy, "just because." I had jury duty on Monday, Billy had a stomach bug on Tuesday, we had a foot of snow on Thursday, and of course Friday was Valentine's. Because of all this, I had one trip to the gym. I'm pretty sure that 30 minutes on a stationary bike isn't going to be enough to counteract a whole week of bad choices.
I know that the number on the scale tomorrow will be disappointing, so I'm trying to prepare for it. The way I see it, I have two choices. I can let it get me down and go through this week feeling depressed about it. I can decide that it's just not worth the trouble and the work. I can decide that I've lost enough weight and just give up. I have, after all, lost the fifty pounds that I gained while pregnant. The other choice that is before me is to look at my food journal for this week, see where I messed up, and make the appropriate changes. I can eat more veggies and less sweets and I can go to the gym more. I can exercise at home on days when I can't go to the gym. I can persevere and go on trying to achieve my goal of being skinny and healthy.
I choose the second option. I'm deciding right now, before I ever step on the scale, before I ever see the number, that I'm not going to let it get me down. I will make the changes necessary to get where I want to be. I refuse to give up.