Like 95% of females in this country, I have spent a really stupid number of hours of my life fretting about what number would show up when I stepped on a scale. But about eight years ago, when I decided to seek treatment for my food addiction, I started by buying two books, one called Overcoming Overeating and the other, When Women Stop Hating Their Bodies. In them, the authors said, Do NOT weigh yourself; throw out your scale. And I did. I didn’t weight myself for years. When I went to the doctor’s office, I would close my eyes and tell the nurse not to say my weight out loud. I still don’t weigh myself. I don’t own a scale. I only know approximately how much I weigh.
Here’s the thing, I like measurable results. I like to see data about how I’ve improved. Or not. I think it can be really motivational. But only when there’s no mental illness involved in your outcomes.
Because, for a compulsive overeater/food addict/emotional eater/what-have-you, the absolute worst thing you can do is focus on your weight. If you’re trying to heal yourself from obsessive thoughts about food, weighing yourself adds a whole new level of crazy. I know this first-hand. When I used to go on diets, I would think about nothing but food, I would gorge myself on food I hated because it was low in Points, and I would scheme how to trick the scale—“Maybe if I take off my earrings before I weigh in, I’ll hit my weight goal.”
Now I have a new weight goal. It’s called a PR, and I won’t ever see it by stepping on a scale. A PR is a personal record. As in, you pick up more weight than you ever have before.
You may remember my first attempts at the clean & jerk back in late August. I was lifting about 25 lbs. Well, by December 29, I hit a one-rep max of 73 lbs. I hadn’t tried for a new 1RM since. This week’s Open WOD called for clean & jerks…at 110 lbs. for females. Ha! I knew I wouldn’t be able to C&J 110 lbs., but I figured it was a good time to find my new 1RM. If I hit 88 pounds, I was fixing to be really happy.
I worked up to 73, doing three reps at a time. Cake.
I decided to do one rep at each increment from there on out.
78. Easy.
83. No problem.
88. Fine.
93. Fail.
Coaching from Rich…93. Yep.
95.5. With more coaching from Rich, done.
98. Rich, coaching, got it.
100.5. Fail. Rest. Rich, coaching. Cleaned, and motherfucking jerked.
I tried 103, but I was shot. I did not care. 100.5 pounds! Now I can’t wait to get back in there and lift 103 pounds over my head.
Why I love CrossFit (with a hat tip to friend and awesome athlete, Nelly, and I quote): My “weight goal” is now something that I want to LIFT, as opposed to something I want to BE.