Dear number on the scale, you don't define me.

Remember me telling you, not too long ago, that I was going to do my best to live a more healthy life? That I was bound and determined not to let my poor eating habits consume me or my life?

Well I'm going to let you in on a little secret: That's not the first time I've made this declaration. And it probably won't be the last. But that's okay.


When I started this journey, I was just teetering on the edge of 200 pounds. Ew. 200. I vehemently hate that number. But I'll let you in on another little secret, even when I was there at that number that's disgusting to me, I was happy. Yeah, I was a little pudgier than normal, and my jeans were starting to get a little snug, but guess what world? That number on the scale?


It does. not. define. me.


Even if I get to my goal weight and am finally able to run a few miles without dreading it, I'll still be me, just a smidge healthier. Now almost ten pounds lighter, I'm still the same girl I was ten pounds ago. This silly dreamer of a girl. A couple of numbers are not going to change that. Ever. (Ha, although they will make swim suit shopping a bit more enjoyable.)


What saddens me tough, is when I see women, especially close friends, who have somehow twisted their journey towards health into an obsession with weight loss and being "skinny". (Skinny? Ha, no thanks. I'll take my God given curves over "skinny" any day.)


I read this blog post today, and wow did the author of it get exactly what I've been thinking lately. "I use to be 35 pounds lighter than I am today." tells it like it should be told. Please, please take some time to read it today. I think you'll be glad you did.


Always,
L.A.