On Friday I weighed myself out of fear. The prior three days were dripping with irrational fear in response to a more than normal positive two-week streak.

I couldn’t sleep the night before because my thoughts were consumed with the idea that I must have gained at least ten pounds.

I hadn’t.

I stepped on the scale three times to make sure– I was so certain the numbers presented before my eyes were somehow false.

Almost all the cells in my brain are screaming for the nonsense to take a dive and drown. Almost all of them. The problem is that everything is triggering. The scale, the fact that I ran 16 miles in 2 days and know that is more calories burned than I am used to right now, but somehow I cannot be okay with replacing those calories because it’s so many and the thought of this causing some weight loss is so appealing.

Then I think about how I want to start a family. And keep running strong. And complete a triathlon. And just be present all the time instead of always being preoccupied.


One thought on “The Scale Again

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