Standing at the Trailhead of Winter

I've decided every Friday will be my weigh-in day. I figure I bought the darn scale, so I'm going to use it. Maybe it's the ingredient I've needed all along to hold me accountable for what I eat. The trepidation I feel just looking at the scale is ridiculous, but I conquered the fear yesterday and stepped on. Half a pound down.  And that made me incredibly happy. Seeing that third number change from where it's been the past two years was the jolt of energy I've needed to continue on the path I'm walking. The path of eating strictly plant-based.  I've been working on this for a year and a half. I tried several years ago to be vegetarian, but I ended up feeling awful, and my doctor said eat meat. So I went back to eating meat though I really didn't want to.  So for the past year and a half, I've joked about being a bad vegetarian. I started the 90/10 routine. I ate mostly plants and eggs 90% of the time during the month. The other 10% of the month,...

This morning was "weigh day," so I turned on the shower, and while it was warming up I stepped onto the scale. When the number that appeared showed a 5 pound loss, I stepped off, let the scale reset, then stepped back on. The same number appeared again. Just to make sure the scale wasn't messing with me, I stepped off one more time then stepped back on. The same number popped up. I figured three times in a row wasn't a fluke. The next thought that entered my mind was: did I have 5 pounds worth of flesh removed with my surgery? I'm pretty sure I did. One of the most notable changes I'm experiencing since the surgery is how light I feel. Pre-surgery, I was constantly adjusting, re-adjusting, and uncomfortable. Sports bras were the worst comfort offenders, mostly because I had to wear two to really get any support out of them. Back when I was into the sprint triathlons, I had to wear either two sports bras or one really tight sports bra to keep the melons in ch...

One week ago today I stepped onto a scale. I had no choice because if I had, I certainly wouldn't have done something that makes me so incredibly disappointed in myself. I loathe weighing myself. I have ever since I was a kid. Once a person is labeled "chubby," "chunky," "pudgy," "fat," and my personal favorite, "thick," anything directly connected to making that label seem even remotely accurate is avoided. So I began avoiding the scale, at like age eight. When I was 10, we had to be weighed in the classroom, in front of all the others. At the time, I was around five feet one inch (I truly thought I was destined to be six feet tall as I was a head taller than all the other girls in the class), and I distinctly remember weighing in at 106 pounds. I also distinctly remember my teacher, who I thought was absolutely the most beautiful woman I had ever met in my short life, smiling at me and nodding, not saying my weight out loud like s...

When I met the man I now call Hubby, I weighed 135 pounds, which was the lightest I've ever weighed since junior high. All through high school, I hovered right at 150. After high school, college, grad school and three kids, I've hovered right at 150. Let's just say I've never been dainty. And more often than not, I'm alright with that. But I worked really, really hard to get to 135, and I truly enjoyed being able to go into a fitting room and try on clothes of all sorts, and come out feeling happy. Well, over a six year period, I put on 23 pounds. When I hit 158, I was one unhappy camper. That's when Hubby and I started our own Biggest Loser competition. I went with the P90X program while Hubby chose to walk on the treadmill. Over the 90 day period we kept track of our progress. I managed to lose ten pounds during that time. At the end of the 90 days, I switched to running. Over the next four or five months, the weight loss just didn't happen, and in frust...