I've avoided the scale all summer. I've worked out six days a week - days 1, 3, and 5 I run 3-6 miles, days 2, 4, and 6 I do 30-45 minutes of aerobics. I've avoided eating out, drank nothing but water for 8 weeks to cleanse my system, did not go overboard eating things that aren't so good for you (e.g. ice cream, french fries, potato chips), avoided most foods that aren't good for you (see previous list), and even thought I was starting to see part of a six pack around my baby flab.
I'm pretty sure it was all for moot. The scale at the doctor's office said I'm 10 pounds heavier than where I was before I started doing my six-day-a-week routine. The nice six pack lines are more weight, I'm pretty sure, and what the F* is the point of avoiding all the bad stuff out there if the healthy stuff is just going to put more weight on me? I dropped two dress sizes last year when I started working out, and while I still fit in the smaller size, it's apparently not going to be for long.
I'm just really f*ing upset. "Maybe it's the scale?" Nope, pretty sure it's not, that scale gets calibrated weekly specifically to make sure it doesn't screw up. "Maybe it's muscle!" I doubt it. Maybe I'm just never going to be the weight that I want to be, I'll never lose (now 20!) pounds, and never get into the size I want to be. It's not impossible, it can't be, but my body just says no apparently. According to the BMI, my goal weight is the upper limit for my height. How ridiculous is that?
It shouldn't upset me this much and yet it does. If my mother calls tomorrow and complains about how she's underweight again, I'm going to hang up on her.
Just...I don't know what to do. My doctor is checking to see if my thyroid is the problem, but I'm willing to bet $100 that it will come back normal. Translation: nope, not your body, you're just a fat idiot. Ugh.
Angry. Upset. Hurt. Ashamed. Frustrated. Ergh.
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