Why do us females do it to ourselves? We're obsessed with our daily, if not continual, self-weigh ins, practically praying to be a few pounds lighter. And as our bare feet grace those scales, we're left with this plummeting feeling of regret as we see that that little dial hand that we rely on so much hasn't shifted. If anything, it's gone up.
And then we proceed to mentally list everything we ate that day, wondering which of the offences was the one to make us gain those horrific, life changing, universe alligning, pounds.
And I can't help but wonder, why? Why do we do it?
I'm obsessed with weighing myself. I lost almost a stone, but after a lapse in willpower, and dedication to finally 'getting fit' - I slipped, and my life tipple at the moment is a four bar kit-kat, dunked neatly into my mug of coffee, melting the chocolate, and filling my mouth with the delicious, pleasure that only chocolate can give.
But then I spend the hours that follow practically torturing myself about what I just ate. Will I wake up tomorrow heavier? Will I put that stone back on?
Yes, it's likely that I will jump back on that scale and have shot back up to the weight I was a few weeks ago.
But I also know that at any point, I can put on my exercise DVD, and fight through the eighty minute fitness DVD until the sweat soaks me, and I hit the shower feeling much better.
But I won't, because i'm counting down the hours until my dad goes to work, which currently stands at a two hour countdown, and then I'll practically launch at one of the two kit-kat bars that I spotted in the fridge earlier, calcuating that if he takes one to work, that leaves one for me, and my coffee.
See, us women will always be the same.
Weight will always define us in some way. We could be the skinniest we've ever been, and fear food completely. Or we can stay the same weight we've been for years, moaning but too lazy to actually get up and do something about it.
We just need to find a balance.
And a hammer to smash up those scales, because to be quite frank, i'm sick of jumping on and off them to see if the slight exercise motion has shifted any weight.
And then we proceed to mentally list everything we ate that day, wondering which of the offences was the one to make us gain those horrific, life changing, universe alligning, pounds.
And I can't help but wonder, why? Why do we do it?
I'm obsessed with weighing myself. I lost almost a stone, but after a lapse in willpower, and dedication to finally 'getting fit' - I slipped, and my life tipple at the moment is a four bar kit-kat, dunked neatly into my mug of coffee, melting the chocolate, and filling my mouth with the delicious, pleasure that only chocolate can give.
But then I spend the hours that follow practically torturing myself about what I just ate. Will I wake up tomorrow heavier? Will I put that stone back on?
Yes, it's likely that I will jump back on that scale and have shot back up to the weight I was a few weeks ago.
But I also know that at any point, I can put on my exercise DVD, and fight through the eighty minute fitness DVD until the sweat soaks me, and I hit the shower feeling much better.
But I won't, because i'm counting down the hours until my dad goes to work, which currently stands at a two hour countdown, and then I'll practically launch at one of the two kit-kat bars that I spotted in the fridge earlier, calcuating that if he takes one to work, that leaves one for me, and my coffee.
See, us women will always be the same.
Weight will always define us in some way. We could be the skinniest we've ever been, and fear food completely. Or we can stay the same weight we've been for years, moaning but too lazy to actually get up and do something about it.
We just need to find a balance.
And a hammer to smash up those scales, because to be quite frank, i'm sick of jumping on and off them to see if the slight exercise motion has shifted any weight.
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