Throwing a medicine ball into the air and slamming it into the ground repeatedly gets your brain into almost a Zen-like, meditative state. Your arms and legs are burning, your back is crying for mercy, but some how, I almost got high from it. Remember to breathe, and you'll be ok. 69 ball slams later, I was shocked at what I had accomplished, and how quickly I recovered my strength and my breath afterwards.
It's little victories like this that make me want to ignore the scale. Weighing yourself after the measured gluttony of a 4th of July celebration (complete with children shooting fireworks AT each other in the most accurate display of "fire photon lasers" I've ever encountered) is not so smart, but Fridays are when I do it, and so here we go. I gained 4 ish pounds. AGAIN. I am yo yo-ing between these sames 4-5 lbs (a week at at time, mind you) and it is PISSING ME OFF. I can already see improvement in my cardiovascular health, my strength and recovery time, but yet those 3 lil numbers (ok...4 if you could after the decimal point) are driving ME BATTY.
Stop it Maribeth. Stop. You really need to stop.
I am not going to weigh myself anymore. At least, not for a long time, and not until I get into the groove with Cross Fit. I feel like my body is going to be ebbing and flowing with the changes to my metabolism, strength and shape so much that it would be nothing less than frustrating to live and die by the numbers on the scale. I need to go with how my clothes fit, how I feel, and how I can handle the workouts prescribed to me. So far, I am doing great, and that should really be my measure of progress. Why are we so obsessed with the scale? The quantitative data lover in me knows why, but as humanity, I am not sure why we are fixated on this.
So here's to no more scales (for a while), more activity, less show and more go.
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