scales aren't just for fish

11/30/13

Plump to Pump

 Blog #6 for No Quit Fit Outdoor Bootcamp

I'm a slave to the scale.  I admit it.  And I'm ok with it.  I've considered chucking it, but shudder at the thought.  Instead, I choose to enlist a select few intimates to tell me honestly and abruptly when I am going overboard with either cutting too much fat, or with building too much muscle.  If I am going all Keira Knightly to the bones, they will tell me to cool my jets and eat some more damn food.  Additionally, if I develop muscular bulges resembling Arnie Schwartzie, they will set me straight and let me know my boobs are going the way of the cutting board.   I am crafting a strong, athletic, chiseled body.   If I must choose a body or fitness idol, I choose Jessica Ennis, the current Olympic heptathlon champion.   She's a hottie bo bottie althete of the highest order.   I want to be able to outrun any asshole trying to hurt me or steal from me and then later that day woo my main squeeze into submission in my LBD or my bikini.   In short, I want to be a sexy motherfucker.  

So I weigh myself regularly, about 4 times per week.  This helps me stay on track with my goals.  I have read all the bossy flossies that scream at me to throw my devil scale away.   I have considered their reasoning, found it sound, and kept on doing it the way that works for me.   I am an information junkie so I gather up the data from all angles and use it to make informed decisions for myself.   This was my process when I decided to lose weight.  This was my process as I make choices about what to use to fuel my body.   This is my process when I decide training plans for my running or lifting goals.  

To sum, I use my scale to stay in a five-pound range that I am happiest living in, I use my intimates to keep me feminine but badass, and I use the internet to learn about health and fitness.  Earlier today when I was getting ready to go running, I had only my sports bra and running pants and socks on so far.  My husband walked into the room, stopped short, and breathed "damn you are looking fine, Greta!" and nuzzled in for some canoodling.  The other morning I was getting ready for work and talking with Alan.   Later that day, the attached picture was texted to me, sneaky snapper.  These Great Gaspy responses from him, and the fact that I ran 3 long blocks to work at 7am when I was going to be late for a meeting and it took me all of 20 seconds to catch my breath once I got there, is all I need to know that my way is working.  I am on point for reaching my goals and I'll be using a scale as I see fit.  To get fit.