Breaking up is hard to do.

I’ve been seeing this guy at least once a week for 9 months. He’s always there when I need him, right where I left him. But he effs with my head. Or rather, I allow him to eff with my head. Yeah, it’s the scale, and I’m not happy with how he’s affecting me and my behaviour.

Super cheesy. Super true.

After having lunch with Meg, Fit Bitch, I started to mull over my relationship with the scale. I despise how strongly it affects me if the numbers don’t go down when I’ve worked hard all week. Instead of celebrating a week of treating myself with respect and dignity – and LOVE, goddamn it – I’m letting a number on a chunk of metal and glass kick the living daylights out of my good mood.

So, scale, we’re on a break for a month. I might cheat on you with the tape measure. I’ll definitely cheat on you by gauging my size by how my jeans fit. I’m saying goodbye to those nagging Tuesday thoughts, like, “Crap, I really want a couple of dill pickles but they’re really salty and it’s weigh-in day tomorrow.” I’m having the GD pickles, bitch. Sorry about calling you a bitch, scale, but if the shoe fits…

I didn’t win my Diet Bet. Aw well, I still think it’s a cool idea and congratulations to the folks who met their goals. Enjoy my $35. Spend it in good health… or get a Georgia Mud Fudge Blizzard. Hell, I won’t judge.

In more positive news, I did commit to Goodlife Fitness by getting a membership yesterday! I did my first locker room standup show on Monday. I’m still dealing with that issue from last week that’s been plaguing me for a month now (thinking of making my gang name H-Roid) and I’ve decided to stop fighting it/them. I’m subletting my ass to them, the effing squatters. Maybe the new lack of stress from using the scale will see them on their way.

Fit Bitch gave me some good advice. After I told her what I typically eat in a day, she said, “You should eat more food.” Then the sun parted the clouds and streamed God-light upon us as a gospel choir in royal blue bedazzled robes danced around us with amounts of enthusiasm reserved only for a choirs of well-padded, hand-clappin’, groovin’ black women. Happy to oblige, Meg. Happy to oblige.

She also suggested I switch my fruit eatin’ to evenings rather than mornings to stop that good old natural sugar from triggering insulin. So I’m trying that. Eating steak for breakfast makes me feel like a badass, so that’s a bonus. I don’t even use cutlery.

I struggled a lot over this scale thing. I thought, “Will people even want to read this blog if I can’t quantify my results with my weight?” Then I realized that as much as I adore you for reading this, a) you’re probably way too cool to think that, and b) that shouldn’t be my focus. It’s about living healthy. Here’s to a new pants size by the end of May.

Love,

Lori

Pounds lost this week: who effing cares?

Total pounds lost: somewhere around 57