I’ve been working my tale off. Eating right 90% of the time (I did take a mini-vaca to NYC recently, although I tried to stay on track there as well), lifting heavy stuff lots and lots and getting that heart rate singing in the soprano section at least 5 days per week. I’ve been feeling good. Well, in pain most of the time, but, y’know, light and stuff. My clothes are looser, the image in the gym mirror looks more toned and athletic and less marshmallow peep.
So I did what I always do on the first day of the month. I stepped on the scale.
Not a pound gone. Not. One. Single. Pound. Lost. In a month. In a MONTH of working my patootie off, eating right and sweating like a glass of ice in August.
And you know what? Now I look fatter. When I saw myself in the gym mirror later that same day, I swear to God, my rolls were rollier. All of a sudden those legs which were feeling more toned and strong? Soft and mushy, less marshmallow chick and more “Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man”.
Does this ever happen to you?
I was doing fine. I was feeling good. I step on the scale and *BOOM!!!!!!!* I am right back where I started and seriously wondering if it was worth it.
Sets me back days. I hate that damned scale.
I have a kettlebell competition coming up in 10 days (July 13). I have been struggling with it mightily because … well, things hurt. I have developed a pretty serious case of tendinitis (Tennis elbow) in my left elbow. My hands have been torn up for weeks. My knee hurts all the time. I generally feel like I am breaking down, physically, at a rapid rate. To step on the scale after all that work and see nothing positive is disheartening. If I wasn’t breaking down, I could at least keep my spirits up with the old “You are gaining muscle and getting stronger, leaner, maybe not lighter … but you look better” spiel.
I was still working out, I just didn’t necessarily do all the lifts, all the work that I was supposed to.
I always did OK, great even. It is just that I felt as if I cheated myself out of some seriously OUTSTANDING results, if only I had put in all the work. So this time, I vowed to be diligent and faithful and train like a champ.
It doesn’t appear to have worked out so well for me.
So, now I need to spend a hell of a lot less time telling myself how much I suck and begin 10 days worth of motivational smoke and mirrors. In order to compete, that is. I have a goal in my head, and right now, it feels impossible. With every lift, there is a little mini-me inside my brain going “Yep, you can not do this. This is bad. This is SO bad. You are SOOOOO screwed.”
It’s time to kill the mini-me.
My lift is only 5 minutes with a 20kg bell. 2.5 minutes per arm, with a goal of 60 reps total. It is a fast pace, you betcha. It is a heavy weight. Yippy skippy. It will be hot as hell. Oh, most definitely. BUT … it is only 5 minutes and I can drop that bell on the floor when it is done and not pick up another one for weeks if I want. I just have to make it through those 5 minutes at THAT speed. I can do ANYTHING for 5 minutes.
After this competition is over? I am scaling it back. My goal will be weight loss, not strength or competition. I will lift lighter, faster. I will give my elbow sufficient time to heal, then I will come back with a plan to execute the fat on my body. I will ignore the scale, toss it if need be, and I will pay attention to how I feel, and how my clothes fit. I will not allow the number on the scale to distort the image in the mirror. I have a plan and I will execute it.