Dear Scale

I don't think I have any "frenemies" - at least, not flesh and blood ones. (I hate that word, by the way - it's one of those fake, annoying media language constructs I like to gripe about.) However, I've realized recently that the scale - specifically, the scale at my gym - is definitely in frenemy territory.

I don't keep one in the house - oh, no, too tempting. But I can't resist the one at the gym. It calls to me. Like a good friend it makes me feel wonderful when I read a good (low) number on its face. It's almost as pleasurable as a nice compliment from a real friend. When it gives me a bad (higher) number, it deflates me and sets the wheels turning in my mind. All my energy spent, mental and physical, seems for naught. Getting on the scale pretty much makes me crazy.

This relationship is toxic. I've got to give it up.

I've made good strides in my quest for better health, especially since the New Year began. I feel better, fitter. My clothes are fitting better. I'm keeping a food journal faithfully. There is genuine cause for hope!

More than anything, working out keeps me sane. All those endorphins get going and my naturally anxious mind starts to unwind. On the flip side, I've realized that eating is another thing that calms me down - temporarily. Food says, "Everything will be okay. You're fine. You're provided for." It's only after the last bite that the wheels start spinning again.

This weight thing is a struggle. It's constant, omnipresent, maddening. I'm not going to quit, though. I feel too good to give up. So, in that spirit, goodbye, scale. I'm going to take a break from you. Let's say, one month, at least. Maybe by then I'll feel so good I won't even feel the need to let you back in to my life.