I haven’t stepped on a scale in over three years. I know my relationship with this little box is a healthy one so at no point am I concerned about the number that stares back at me because it does not measure:
- My strength
- My fat vs muscle mass
- My endurance
- My love of my body
- My worth
But we need measurables and this is but one. I have advocated my feelings of the scale for years and those feelings still hold true. I respect those who smash the shit out of it or those past clients who put theirs in hibernation in my garage until they were ready to take their own power back.
I also respect honesty and transparency with ourselves (first) and then those around us. Secrecy works sometimes. But I believe in an age where masks and fake happy lives on social media seem to be at epidemic proportions, a little truth and discomfort can do the soul some good.
I visited with my dad yesterday after a near miss fall that has him fairly incapacitated and a feeling of clarity took over me as I sat beside him. Health is so all-encompassing. It isn’t just the size of your dress, the curve in your squat exhausted booty or the macros that follow you throughout the week. It’s how your body gets you through stress and sadness and anger; how your immune system responds to broken sleep and imbalanced diet; how your mental fortitude pushes you through the tough in life.
While a round ass and carved shoulders are great goals, I’m finally realizing health and strength in fitness and consistency in nutrition will one day be the reason you overcome the life- sucking moments that will pop up.
My scale has reminded me this morning that, 45 lbs later, health cannot be achieved when we don’t truly know a starting point. I thank my scale for being honest with me today. Our relationship is a good one, but I have the power in where I’m going… not that little $39.99 piece of metal.
This morning’s workout dedicated to my dad.