It was cold this morning. A RealFeel of -1F when I left the house at 5:45am. Usually, on the winter mornings when I go to the gym, I throw on a hoodie and a pair of fleece pants over my running shorts and tank, then strip the extra clothes off by the treadmill. Today, I needed a coat. My warmest winter coat.

And if you give a mouse a cookie… (Sorry, pardon the digression, my kids love Laura Numeroff’s books). Where was I? Okay.

If I wear a coat to the gym, then I’m going to need a locker to put it in.

So I went into the locker room. Took off my coat and hung it up. Shoved my hoodie and pants into the locker and shut the door. Turned around.

Hey lookie there, it’s a scale!


So I stepped on it. It wasn’t some dramatic moment, filled with gnashing of teeth and internal angst. It was there, so I stepped on it. And there was a number, displayed between my feet.

A number that was higher than I’ve seen in years, save for when I’ve been pregnant. The last time the non-pregnant me saw that number was right after I came home from our honeymoon, after I made a concerted effort to gain some weight for our wedding.

That thought makes me really happy. The last time there was this much “me” was during one of the happiest times of my life. That’s not a bad thing or a sign that I’ve let myself go. That number isn’t a bad thing. That higher number means that I have “x” extra pounds of life on me, “x” extra pounds of experience and joy.

I gained something, in the most literal and figurative senses of the word.

I admit that there was a teeny little part of my brain that wanted to see a smaller number, but that part was small. Ant-sized. Stompable ant-sized.


The rest of me shrugged her shoulders and stepped off the scale. I didn’t overdo it during my workout. I didn’t beat myself up. I didn’t make any grand plans to change everything in the world that I’ll ever eat again. I thought about the number a bit, but only to try to figure out why I wanted to know it in the first place, why that curiosity reared its head at all.

Because for me, stepping on a scale isn’t just a momentary whim, like it can be for other people. You may think I’m analyzing this too much, but I don’t. I need to know my motivations so I can stay in a good place.

Because this is a good place. Gaining, having gained, is a good place. Being “meh” about it is a good place. That means that numbers are losing their allure. They’re losing their sparkle and glow.

Something else is sparkling instead. The stuff that matters.


I’m still going to think about what I did, though. And it made me realize that I probably have a bit more work to do, a bit more letting go. That I’ll most likely watch that number rise a bit more.

And you know what? I’m okay with that.


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One Response to Gaining

  1. Amanda Snow says:

    Beautiful post, friend!


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