After the weekend debacle of ill fitting pants, accompanied by all the other stressors, I tried to accept that I had gained weight (again!). Feeling like I just wanted it all over with, I ran the numbers officially today. I stood on the scale, held the body fat percentage machine, and stood still while the tape measure clicked away.
There's good news, and bad. First, the bad. No weight loss. No change in body fat percentage. No change in measurements. I've spent 12+ weeks now, sweating and busting my butt at least twice a week, with no numerical difference.
Now, the good news. I did not gain any weight, either. Sure, I'm no better than I was 12 weeks ago (from the number point of view), but I'm not worse off either. And the truth is... I am better. I'm not fantastic. Or ready to run a mile. But I am more active. I'm much more involved. I'm just moving.
So. I refuse to be held hostage to these numerical things. Sometimes it's more than just numbers.
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