Something changed in August 2012.
I had been seeing my personal trainer since January 2012. Unlike the visits to the personal trainer at 24-Hour Fitness, I left my sessions with Paul feeling inspired and encouraged. He introduced me to strength training in a new way. Strength training and I were acquaintances before. I'd be like, 'Hey. How's it goin', Strength Training. See ya around, I gotta go catch up with the Elliptical.' Who knew that you could burn calories while strengthening muscles? Who knew that push ups and squats would leave you so sweaty? Who knew that moving those heavy ropes, Biggest Loser style, would send your heart rate flying? (It looks so easy on television, but trust me, it's the most difficult thing that the gym offers.) Paul would demonstrate an exercise, then I would think, 'I can't do that', and I'd be wrong! As I was able to do more and more, my confidence was built, and I learned to push past my usual quitting point.
Years ago, when I was on the St. Ann Swim Team, I was never the best. My only second place ribbon was due to several swimmers being disqualified. I remember that I always gave up in the last few lengths. Everyone said, 'Finish strong!' I finished leisurely. My last strokes of every race defined my athleticism. I did not believe I could do it, therefore I did not do it.
Quitting was my track record. Quitting was what I did with the best consistency. When things got hard or when I didn't like them, I quit. In regards to weight loss, that usually happened around the eight month mark. In 2003/2004, I counted calories for about eight months. My first round of Weight Watchers lasted eight months. My first membership to 24-Hour Fitness was canceled after eight months. The vicious cycle was about to repeat itself in August 2012.
On a Saturday morning, I went to my appointment with Paul. I was particularly discouraged. The scale wasn't moving. I enjoyed going to the gym. I felt better. But the scale was the exact same as when I joined the Jewish Community Center... eight months prior. I don't remember the exercises that I did that day, but I remember the conversation with Paul. He asked how often I got on the scale. Everyday. Sometimes twice a day. It was in my bedroom. I stopped there every morning. Paul said that there are many ways to measure fitness, and that the scale's measurement gives a limited view. He pointed out the ways I had become stronger in the past months. He suggested basing progress on measurements, how clothes fit, or how much energy I had. He challenged me to not step on the scale until our next meeting. I acknowledged this idea, without intention of following through. But at the end of the session, he asked that I promise him that I wouldn't get on the scale, and I said the words, 'I promise.' When I got home, I immediately took the scale down to the basement, and buried it in the storage room.
Paul's advice for the six weeks of not weighing myself: "Do your best".
If anyone would have asked me if I was addicted to the scale, I'd have said no. People are addicted to substances, not scales. But I was very addicted. The scale haunted me from the basement, and it took every bit of my decision making to stay away. I craved it's feedback. I felt constantly conflicted, not knowing how I was doing, because only the scale could tell me. I'd have caved if I hadn't promised. I was detoxing from my scale addiction.
Besides being surprised that I was addicted, I was also surprised at how it changed my outlook. I made choices based on what was best for me, not based on the opinion of an inanimate object. When the scale told me a gain, I'd feel bad about myself and struggle with quitting or not trying. When the scale told me a loss, I'd feel that I should reward myself for working so hard, and that I could take it easy for awhile. Without the scale, I worked harder and I ate better, and focused on 'doing my best'. At my next appointment, I had lost two pounds... and I had gained freedom.
The scale has remained in the basement to this day. It is an unnecessary tool.
I get on it occasionally, every week or two, and then only on Saturdays. I no longer use it to measure my progress. Instead, I judge my progress by how many times a week I work out, by how many miles I log, by my work pants being looser or tighter, by my increased endurance, and even by little things, like my husband thinking that I wouldn't be able to lift my four-year-old niece over my head, and then me proving him wrong.
In February 2013, much to my surprise, I was interviewed for the JCC's quarterly magazine.
I count my victory over the scale as one of my proudest accomplishments.
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