mind and body: the ultimate goal isn't a number.

Every day, I plan. I plan out my meals, my snacks, my exercise and my points. I think in terms of Weight Watchers points, carbohydrates and sugars. Almost every day, I exercise. I think in terms of input versus output, calories burned, heart rates and the number of "Activity Points" I've earned. Every Monday, I do damage control on what is inevitably always a weekend of overdoing it on eating out somewhere (or multiple places). In addition to my budgeted amount of money per week allowed for groceries, I am also thinking in terms of dinners planned - planning to ensure I do not eat carb or point-heavy meals the night before a weigh-in, making sure vegetables and fruits are washed and chopped, and setting aside a few extra minutes each morning to make sure I've got everything together for work. Inevitably, I always end up leaving something at home. It's usually my 32 oz water bottle I bring to make sure I get my daily 64 ounces of water in during my 8-hour workday. 

Every day, I need gym clothes clean. I need my pink "13.1" headband and the good gym socks from my drawer, not the thin ones from high school with the monkeys on them. I either run at least 3 miles in the morning, run at night or do a heavy cardio, bootcamp or strength style class in the evenings. One day out of the week is usually a long run of 6 miles or longer. In addition, I usually walk the dogs at least 3 times a week - never anything less than 1.5 miles. Usually 3. 

Every morning, I step on the scale. I cannot stop. I tell myself at night that I won't weigh myself tomorrow morning. I won't be a daily weigher. I'll just step on the scale on my designated weigh-in day, record it and move on. But every day, I lose the battle. Every day that the scale does not show a loss - even an ounce - is a day I get frustrated. A day I look in the mirror and wonder if I look heavier. Wonder if my jeans are tight because they just came out of the dryer or because I'm gaining weight. Every day,  I ask Rob if my outfit looks okay, if this top is flattering or if my legs look awful in these shorts. Every. Day. 

Every week I gain weight or maintain is another week I question what I'm doing wrong. Every processed starch, every cookie, every piece of coffee cake is a moment that lingers in the back of my head for the rest of the day. Individually, they are a single choice. But history has told me that together, those choices are what caused a lifetime of weight gain and personal unhappiness with my body. Those choices, together, are the most frightening things in my life. 

I'm telling you this because on the outside, it looks like I'm easily the most disciplined person on the face of the planet. It looks like I'm really on the ball, and the weight loss proves that to an extent, I guess I am. But what it has done to my current frame of mind lately is something that weighs heavier on me than all the extra weight I had in the first place. 

I've always been fairly restless. I'm always itching, always pushing for something more. New car, second dog, this vacation, travel here, organize this party, new dress. More. To an extent, that's probably a good thing. But lately, I've felt tension in my mind between the part of me that wants so badly to lose these last 10-20 pounds, and the other part of me that screams, "HEY LADY, slow down. You're happy, stop pushing yourself so damn hard. Now go eat that cookie." 

The truth is, I think I'll always look the mirror and wish my legs were thinner, wish I could lose the weight that's still left in my stomach (seriously, it's set up camp) and see flab on my arms. And as a girl who has always pushed for more, more, more, I have a hard time knowing when to quit. In the midst of my constant meal planning, calorie counting and mile running, I've turned myself into someone more self-critical than I was at my heaviest. Not in terms of hating on my body - but in regards to how I approach food and exercise. Missed workouts, french fries and too many margaritas make me feel like a criminal, and eating a sandwich today - the day before my weigh-in - will ultimately result in a gain tomorrow, I'm sure of it.

What I'm saying is that I don't know if I necessarily even want to lose these last pounds. I know I need to, and deep down I know I'd be happier in a smaller pant size. But even deeper down, I know that the pride I once felt by making healthy choices, eating right and exercising is now trumped by my eating and exercise failures, and that's not okay with me. It's time that I seriously refocus, decide what's important to me - 10 more pounds or mental fucking sanity, and take actions that put me on the right path. I'm still trying, like so many are, to balance weight loss with living my life, and the closer I get to my wedding, the more pressure I put on myself when I make poor choices. 

If you asked me 8 months ago if I wanted it bad enough to make sacrifices, put in the early workouts and skip the happy hours, I'd tell you with the utmost confidence, HELL YES. Now? I just don't know. I love the early morning workouts, I love the long runs and the hard bootcamps. I love making healthy eating choices, eating low carb and I know I"m happiest when I'm doing all these things. But I also know that running my mind in vicious circles over my failed attempts, which realistically are just part of life, isn't healthy for my mind either. 

So from this point forward, I vow to focus on a balance between mind and body. No, not yoga (and please, don't suggest it). But a promise to be my own biggest fan and my hardest coach - in the most positive way I can. To understand that life happens between the runs and the skinny meals, that happy hours happen between the salads and the bootcamps. That cheesecake is okay, and so is a 5 a.m. 9 mile run. And to be honest, staying at this weight forever would be okay too. If you saw me for the very first time, you'd think I was overweight and nothing special. But those closest to me know that these jeans, this tank top and this still-flabby stomach is the result of years of hard work and commitment. 

Am I at goal yet? No, probably not. But I'm happy with my progress, and I really need to teach that nasty part of my mind to be happy, too. Once the mind and body can work in harmony with each other, then I'll be at goal, regardless of what the number on the scale says.