That damn scale.
The one that I get on religiously every morning. That one that I then get on religiously every night.
That awful scale.
Although, if I'm being fair, it's not all the scale's fault. Whether I have the scale or don't have the scale, a healthy view of my body is not something I believe I will ever have.
I wonder about that sometimes. What caused it? What could have prevented it? Anything? Certainly I always compared myself to my skinny friends, the ones who naturally wore a size 4. My grandma always used to comment on my weight to tell me how fat I was getting. What was it about me, that I won the slow metabolism lottery?
At any rate, here I am now. 115 lbs lighter. I ran two miles today. And yet I got on the scale when I got home and was disappointed with what I saw.
That damn scale.