Earlier this year, I lost a lot of weight because I had an infection that would not get the eff out of my body. And though I felt like crap, could hardly get a full night’s sleep, downed antibiotic after antibiotic, missed parties (boo) and work (boo?), and barely exercised for months, I weighed less than I had since my tonsillectomy circa 2005. Something like 128 lbs. And that had to count for something, right?
Fast forward to last summer, when I started a Crossfit boot camp program. Two or three days a week, I got my ass kicked in Kenwood Park. At first, I felt like a complete embarrassment, but within a few weeks, I could do 20 push-ups, no problem. I even beat my Beyonce (or fiancé) Josh in a few timed workouts. He’s a total stud, and I don’t expect to “win” in any physical challenge that doesn’t heavily rely on balance and/or flexibility. Kicking his butt is a big deal to me! I was in great shape, but I weighed more than I have in my entire life. Around that time, I had one of those horrid doctor’s appointments where you step on the scale and it’s at least five pounds heavier than at home… maybe 140? Even though I was in great shape and felt like a million bucks. Mentally, it was another story. Muscle weighs more than fat, blah blah blah. I know all about that, but it didn’t make me feel any better.
After freaking out for a few weeks, I decided to ask one of our boot camp coaches about the weight gain. I guess it’s not uncommon at all. In fact, she complimented me on gaining weight so quickly. Huh, now that was a completely new perspective, especially coming from a person in the fitness world. I slowly came to terms with the new numbers on the scale. What’s funny is that now I don’t immediately go to self loathing mode when I weigh myself, which is about a third as often as I did when I was sick as a dog (but light as a feather).
So 134.4 is what the scale said a few days ago. And after returning from a gluttonous trip to New York, I weighed nearly four pounds more. BFD. I’m sure some people will read this post and think, “Wow, I wouldn’t go around bragging about 134,” while others are thinking, “Skinny bitch!” I’m trying to just focus on how I feel, which is easier said than done. I think most women and many men have numbers we’re comfortable with, numbers we’re aiming for, and numbers that cause total panic. I dare the rest of you to share your number. ‘Cause no matter what you tell yourself, it doesn’t mean all that much.