Over the years, I’ve treated my body poorly – like an abusive partner, really. Demeaning. Degrading. Withholding and then asking for more and more and more.
In the past, I’ve thrown in the towel on what I had called a “weight loss journey” because my goal didn’t make sense: I didn’t really want to lose weight, I wanted to change my body composition and look better. But when we’re comparing our progress against the wrong criteria, we can’t be successful.
The pressure I feel to perform better across all aspects of my life is breathtakingly overwhelming.
In the past five years, my perspective on weight and, in particular, owning a scale has shifted.
If you were cautiously side-eyeing the Obituaries section of the news to make sure my name wasn’t there, I’d like to now assure you I am still very much alive.
Quicker than you can say “bicycle”, we were at the back of the store to pick out a helmet and asking someone to get the bike he’d selected ready for us.
Forget about distance. Forget about time. Forget about whatever it is that’s holding you back and just start.