To say I’m shocked is an understatement.
I didn’t set out to write this post. I had no desire to prove to myself that the scale was useless. I already knew that. As a recovering daily-weigher and yo-yo dieting aficionado, the scale and I have always had a tremulous relationship.
I stopped dieting and weighing myself years ago.
Then I took up weightlifting—a sport that requires you to declare a weight class.
Which meant the scale and I had to become acquainted again.
Given my history, I knew that wouldn’t be great for my mental health. So, I set my scale to kilograms (the standard in weightlifting), and honestly, it felt freeing. I didn’t have the same unhealthy attachment to the number. Kilos just didn’t carry the same emotional weight as pounds.
As a non-petite woman who takes up space, the number in pounds has haunted me since I was a pre-teen. That’s when I first realized I didn’t look like the “ideal” woman of the 1990s. Back then, we called it heroin chic, and oh, boy, was I obsessed with being as small as possible. All I wanted was to look like Kate Moss or Winona Ryder.
Newsflash: Even at my thinnest, which was completely unsustainable, I still didn’t look like Kate Moss or Winona Ryder.
Anyway, that long backstory brings me to the actual evidence.
A few months ago, I stepped on the body composition scale at my gym. It gives you a breakdown of lean muscle mass, body fat percentage, and weight. I decided to track my body fat percentage and set a goal of 25%. I figured it was realistic to lose 3% body fat in a month—and guess what? I did exactly that. In March, I went from 28.4% to 25.2%. I was ecstatic!
I didn’t keep a food journal. I didn’t weigh anything. I just upped my protein and tried intermittent fasting. Frankly, I was shocked at the result.
Once I hit my goal, I decided to weigh in just once a month for tracking purposes. I stopped fasting, but I stayed mindful: still focusing on protein, cutting back on alcohol, and overall eating with intention. My clothes even felt looser.
So this morning, I stepped on the scale, cautiously optimistic.
That optimism vanished the second I saw my weight. It was basically the same as last month, and I’m not going to lie—it bothered me. Hadn’t I been trying? Was it all in my imagination? I mean, I feel great! Why didn’t the scale represent how I was feeling?
Then my coach handed me the full printout and said, “I’m proud of you. You’re killing it.”
I was confused. “What? I’m only down like a pound this month.”
Then I read the printout...
My total weight may not have dropped much, but I lost another 2% body fat and gained two pounds of muscle!
This is why I’ll never rely on the scale alone again. From now on, I’m measuring progress by what I lift and my overall body composition.
As for the scale?
It can go f*** itself.
What a good reminder about the scale- awesome progress in just a few months!