This guest post, by my running partner, Rebekah, made me question my own continued love/hate relationship with my bathroom scale. I pretend I don’t care about the numbers, even when my jeans are getting lose, I’ve lost almost 20 pounds, and I just.ran.12.miles! But alas, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t. Rebekah is an amazing 34 year old mother of the beautiful 2 year old girl, Baby Ruby, who sits in her stroller and yells “Wun Mommy! Wun Juwie!” every Tuesday and Thursday at noon. And we do. Together we are training for our first half marathon, and reminding each other to be happy and proud of our inner and outer strength. And now, on to Rebekah:
My scale and I have had an unhealthy relationship for years! Extreme highs and lows, misplaced trust, emotional manipulation…the works! While there were certainly days of euphoria when I felt like the scale truly loved me, it’s become clear to me that this is a disfunctional romance. And I’m done.
Of course, I may have expected too much from an inanimate object. I gave the scale complete access to my self esteem! I allowed it to determine my feelings of success or failure based on an arbitrary and possibly unattainable number. Why did I do that?! I could hypothesize about media influence and scary societal expectations, but let’s just say I’ve learned my lesson. It began with a flash of insight immediately following a fateful event.
The battery died in my digital scale.
“It’s a sign.” I said to myself…and smiled.
I don’t need to know what I weigh to decide how I feel about myself. I’ve discovered that I naturally feel pretty good. I eat food that makes me feel energetic and I run because it makes me feel strong and alive. Consequently, the mirror shows me someone I like! I finally get it! Self satisfaction. No scale required.
This is us, just after we ran 12 miles, for the first time in our whole entire lives! The scale was far, far away.
cartoon via http://motherisaverb-shaunna.blogspot.com/