Dear John: It’s Not Me. It’s Most Definitely You.

You know what? Sometimes relationships simply don’t work out. As much as you may try to sweep the inevitable, ugly truth under the rug, all things come to the light eventually.

Today I had to end one of my longest relationships. *sheds fake silent tear*

I’ll be honest: I genuinely didn’t want to do it. Despite seeing all the signs of trouble, I thought we could work things out. I thought things would change… that I could change if only I worked just a bit harder.

Man. We’ve just been through so much together. Where did things go wrong? What pleasure did you get in calling me fat? What could I have possibly done to make you love me more? I only wanted for us to be happy together.

No. No, I’m not going to do it. I’m done playing the blame game, remember? What’s done is done and that’s the end of the story. I did everything I could to be faithful. The best thing to do now is pick myself back up and just move on. I’ll find someone new before I know it.

Stupid, stupid scale.

Yeah, yeah, I hate to admit it, but I had to finally break it off with my scale today. I’ve only had this particular one about a year now, and at first, it was great. It was nice being able to pair it with an app to see the breakdown of my body composition and automatically track my progress just by stepping on the scale. However, things just haven’t been quite right lately.

Despite being really careful about counting every. single. calorie. that enters my mouth, when I would step on the scale, it would just spout one heinous lie after another. I mean, sure, women are said to have some pretty erratic weight fluctuations based on diet, the time of the month (TMI?), which way the wind is blowing, etc., but sheesh! Every time I step on the scale now it’s like:

Over the past two weeks or so I have been weighing myself first thing each morning (perhaps my first mistake). One day I will be at one shocking weight, then the next day I’ll jump up another two soul crushing pounds. The day after that I might lose a pound and a half only to leap up three more pounds.

Meanwhile, everyone around me is saying, “That can’t be right. You’re totally losing weight.” Even I have been looking in the mirror thinking that I look much smaller–and I never think that. I’ve heard everything from “It must be water weight” to “It has to be muscle” to “I bet it’s inflammation”. Whatever it is, I’ve had enough of it.

Obvious, irrefutable conclusion: My scale is a diabolical, sadistic, and pathological liar that was specifically programmed to make my life a living hell. Therefore, it must be stopped.

So yeah, I’m not going to be weighing myself anymore. I know some people in the fitness/nutrition world strongly recommend weighing daily (Noom, for instance). Still, there are other “experts” who recommend weighing yourself once a week or once a month. And even still, there are people who are like, “Set your scale on fire and roast marshmallows over its melting carcass.”

As ever, there are a lot of conflicting (and confusing) views on when to weigh, if to weigh, etc. Not everything works well for everyone, so I’m of the opinion that people should just do what makes sense for them. Personally, weighing myself even semi-frequently has historically led to this compulsive preoccupation obsession with the scale, what it says, and most disturbingly, what it doesn’t say.

Even though I do want to reach a certain number, I am more interested in achieving a very specific aesthetic and fitness level. So, if I suddenly gained another 200 lbs, but could effortlessly run a full marathon looking as lean as a gazelle, I’d be (mostly) cool with that. Sure, it would defy all medical science and not make too much logical sense, but it’d still be something I could come to terms with. 😂


Today was okay. Despite going to bed earlier last night, I woke up SUPER late, which completely threw me off schedule the rest of the day. Once again, I didn’t want to do a morning workout. I came really close to putting it off until the afternoon, but I knew without a doubt that I would eventually come up with an excuse for why I couldn’t work out.

“I’m WAY too tired.”

“I’m too busy.”

“My [insert random body part here] hurts.”

“It’s too late.”

“I just ate.”

“A bird just flew by.”

“It’s Tuesday.”

“Don’t wanna.”

To be honest, I’m just sick and tired of my tendency to lack discipline, so even though it took me 10-15 minutes to mentally get myself together, I put my big girl pants on and got down to business.

I didn’t feel like rowing today (my back was already sore from yesterday), so I decided to do a few workout videos from one of my favorite fitness Youtubers (I will be sharing her with you guys in the near future). Her workouts are fairly low impact and deceptively easy looking–until you’re two sets in and starting to realize that your everything is suddenly on fire.

Today’s Workout: 45 minutes (4 videos). Abs, waist, upper/lower back. Body weight only–no equipment.

Overall, I had a good time (as always). The time flew by thanks to the catchy music and pretty scenery in the videos. For some reason, my thighs were NOT interested in participating in today’s activities; they felt like lead blocks every time I lifted them. Not fun.

I could tell that these weren’t movements I was used to doing though–the stiffness was unreal. However, I’m really glad I tried some new routines because it highlighted a weakness. After all, I don’t want to keep doing what is easy. I need to work on what’s difficult to see improvement.

After working out it was shower, massage, food. In that order.

Today’s Consumption: Same tacos as yesterday; same salad as yesterday; same ice cream as yesterday; ten cherries; and 1/2 a Starbucks confetti sugar cookie–(whoops.)

Diet-wise, I stuck pretty closely to yesterday’s lineup and currently have 30 calories left over. I didn’t have breakfast due to waking up so late, but it ended up being okay because I wasn’t as hungry today anyway. I did, however, have a really bad sweet tooth, which I’m not necessarily happy about.

It all started when I saw someone else with a cookie. Then I wanted a cookie. I already had ice cream, but I still wanted a cookie. So I say to myself, “Self, you have enough calories left to eat a fourth of a cookie. At 100 calories per quarter it’s totally not worth it and you don’t need the sugar, but the numbers are the numbers. If you can still eat at a deficit AND manage to include cookies… do it. DO IT! DO IT! DO IT!”

Okay, so maybe it wasn’t me who said all of that stuff, but the little food devil who routinely sits on my shoulder chanting about cookies, ice cream, brownies, candy, etc. Whoever it was, I accidentally listened (peer pressure is a *****). And instead of having a fourth of the cookie, I had a half. 220 calories for HALF of a cookie. I didn’t even get the half with the frosting and sprinkles!

I am sort of irritated that I had ice cream AND a part of a cookie in the same day. So unnecessary. However, Starbucks confetti sugar cookies are the most amazingly fattening bundles of yummy diet-wrecking goodness ever, so… it was low-key worth it.

But next time! The next time I am confronted with those cookies, I need to make like Joanne the Scammer and get the heck out of there. 🏃🏽‍♀️

Oh well. Tomorrow is another day. I’ve already got my workout for the morning planned in my head, but it’s gonna be a long one, so… help.

Today was Day 2.

Cookies are evil. 🍪 = ☠️

Featured Photo Credit: Jaymantri via Pexels


2 thoughts on “Dear John: It’s Not Me. It’s Most Definitely You.

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