The Fathlete Stops Listening To Haters, including Herself

I greet you at Week 9 of my little experiment. I have not been on the scale in a few weeks, because I got sort of freaked out by it after a little fluccuation in the opposite direction, if you get my drift. I believe it was normal bloating, and the pants that I was able to wear wonderfully well today, as well as the many people in the last two weeks who have said "Wow, you're getting skinnier" tell me it was a fluke.

But it scares me, even though my clothes say they're right. What if the next time I get on that thing it tells me it's all in my head, and everyone else's? I can tell I've regained so much of my fitness- I effortlessly caught up with a skinny male co-worker on his bike, who saw me a year ago when I bought this bike and wasn't nearly as fast or as steady on it. Amazing what a few less pounds can do for your balance.

Anyway, I said I was going to be mostly writing with full disclosure, except for the number on that scale, but I wanted to tell you that as much as things are going well - see the picture - I'm really scared of failing, for myself and in front of all of you. A reader on my blog at work called me a fat pig the other day, which made me both sad for a person who has to insult a stranger (I hope I'm a stranger to them, otherwise they're a coward as well), and completely depressed, because someone thought I was fat. Ever. And I was bigger. But what if they saw me last week and thought I was still fat? What was the point? Where was that cheese?

But then, I went to work, and three people, including one I don't well, told me "Wow, you're looking great." And then I went into the bathroom and made myself look at myself. And I decided this:

- I don't look like I did three years ago, which I don't like.

- I don't look like I did three months ago, which is wonderful,

- Screw some nasty cow who has to tear somebody else down to make their petty butt feel better. This person's an ass. Why should I give them the honor of being in my head?

So, I'm mostly over it. There will be times, like the next time I get on that scale, where I hear that voice over my shoulder. But screw that voice, both that cow's, the guy that invited me to Overeaters Anonymous and mine when I'm being a jerk to myself. Screw us all. I'm working really hard, and I have the comfortable pants to prove it.

Boo-ya.