Inch by Inch

With my one month weigh-in just around the corner, I started thinking about my pending results for the month.  I know the scale will show a loss.  I am pretty confident about that. But it got me thinking about diets of yore.  Diets that left me starving, or cutting out entire food groups, or eating only one certain food for every meal for weeks on end (I will never look at leek soup the same again...ever).  Diets where the scale showed massive weight loss in the first week or month, only later to stall out and backfire on me.  Diets based upon the number on the scale only, and never about health.  

Knowing that the number on the scale is not the only indicator of health, I decided to take my measurements. Time to go old school. Calculating my poundage on a fancy-schmancy, newfangled scale is clearly necessary, but I figured a good old fashioned measuring tape session was in order as well.  In my experience, one can never predict when things might get squirrely at weigh in time.  Best to hedge my bets.  It was time to get blood-raw real with myself, yet again.  

So I dug around in my "sewing basket" and found a brand new measuring tape all the way at the bottom. There it was, tidily stored in perfect condition just waiting for it's big moment to shine.  Oh, and shine it would!  This little thing was about to have it's big moment in the sun.

I was kind of nervous unraveling the small roll of fabric tape.  That little roll didn't seem like it would be long enough to go around my big bottom.  Panic set in for a moment, but luckily I was wrong. Whew! There was actually more than enough to go around my big bum. Things were touch and go for a minute though.  But it seems my fears were just another classic case of bad body image. Welcome to the absurdity that is my mind some days.  

I stood in front of the mirror in nothing but workout pants and a sports bra.  Yeah, seriously.  This is not an easy thing to do.  Keeping my mind from going all "Mean Girls" on my body proved nearly impossible.  I had to really focus on being loving and positive.  It was a tough task, but I felt it was a worthy one.  I pushed out my visions of people seeing me, then running away in horror, grabbing their children, and shielding their eyes so as not to turn to stone at the sight of all of my fat and glory.  I  was almost certain that I could hear screaming and gnashing of teeth from my neighbors.

I took a deep breath and began to think of all the positive things about my body.  How healthy my blood work is despite the number on the scale.  How that regardless of my weight and years of yo-yo dieting, I have somehow managed to prevent too many stretch marks from appearing (daily slathering of Palmer's cocoa butter lotion, perhaps?).  I thought about all the ways that my body has been good to me.  It's been doing double-time for a few years, and deserves to feel good again!  Just the thought of being good to the very body that houses my spirit and the essence of who I am made me ecstatic....and really, truly grateful.

At the end of my "come to Jesus" with the measuring tape, I actually felt surprisingly good.  It was good to be honest with myself about those numbers.   It's good to have that point of reference in addition to the scale.  It was good to quiet those hateful voices in my head.  Was it easy?  Nope.  Were the resulting measurements great?  Absolutely not, they were horrifying actually.  But none of that compares to the feeling of gratitude I have for my body now.  The one that is mine.  The one I want to do right by.  I love this body, fat and all.....and I am grateful.