Yep, it's been awhile since I wrote...life has been busy and I haven't been struck with much motivation to write lately, but tonight Hubs is out and with the house all to myself, my fingers were itching so here I am!
So as you guys all know, I've been loving the strength training...love being stronger, love learning lifting techniques, and love seeing progress each week either as the weight goes up, or as my reps get smoother. When I first started, I had to email my trainer with what I wanted out of these sessions, and one of the goals was to change my body composition...I didn't want to be skinny fat anymore, I wanted to be strong like bull as Natasha would say. While I wasn't looking to lose any weight per se, I was hoping more of it would be muscle and less of it would be fat so had told him I was OK with gaining some weight, as long as it was mostly muscle. At that point, I was in a good head space...I wasn't weighing myself often and went by how clothes were fitting. I ate intuitively, stopped counting calories, allowed myself treats when I wanted but made sure I ate healthfully most of the time...all was good and I had gotten over my dependency on the scale ...or so I thought.
Fast forward ten months and all the strength work has made some pretty significant changes in my body which has been awesome...my shoulders have filled out and are more muscular (I actually have traps now!), my thighs have gotten bigger and stronger and I've even got the start of what I would call an ass. Asian girls are NOT known for having Nikki Minaj-like butts (ain't no one gonna sing no songs about my ass), so anything more than a pancake is victory! For the first time ever in my life at the ripe old age of 45, I was actually OK with what I saw in the mirror. And I was thrilled with my progress...one of the other trainers at the gym saw my chart and was actually impressed with the weights I was doing for such a little pipsqueak! All was good in the hood until I made a fatal mistake...I got on the scale.
Yep. That scale showed in the last ten months, I had gained seven pounds. What the what?! Now that may not sound like a lot, seven pounds on someone barely over five feet adds up. Now all the stuff that I had felt previously completely vanished...all of it gone because of what that stupid scale said. I clearly was not OK with gaining weight even if some of it was muscle. I panicked and tried on everything I owned and examined in great detail what I looked like from multiple angles...was that ripple always there? Was this shirt always that tight? I'm sure I drove Hubs crazy, asking him if I looked heavier and maybe I should stop strength work because I was getting too "big".
Yessirree...I hit all the panic stations and to be blunt, I shit myself. I beat myself up over those stupid seven pounds and all the insecurities about myself and my body image issues came rushing back. Thankfully, sometimes the stars just align...I was checking out some blogs and read this article about Neghar Fonooni and this article from Molly Galbraith, Now these two women are at once, awesome and amazing...these gorgeous ladies are crazy fit and strong and have real bodies...butts and thighs, and even some cellulite. Cellulite, people!! And they look like they lift some serious weight. As I read through these posts and others, I realized...why was I letting that stupid scale define me when I was happy before when I didn't know how much I weighed?
So eff you, scale...bring on the man traps, big ass and thunder thighs, I'm going to hang out with my friend the barbell and go lift some heavy shit.