I've spent much of Operation Get Fit obsessed with numbers. I know my BMI at the moment is 21.3 but used to be 22.7, which is shockingly close to overweight (which is 23 for Asians, not 24.9 like it is for Caucasians). I know that I am definitely overweight once I'm over 57kg and I'm okay at about 55-56kg, but I only really start feeling good once I'm under 55kg. I know my BWH measurements, and all other sorts of random crap.
But now, that's all out the window.
When I wasn't working out and just Sundowning, I was losing all the surplus weight I gained whilst eating my way through Asia, and that was quick and easy - three kilos in two weeks. But then, it stopped, and it didn't matter whether I ate or starved, I was still 55kg. It was pretty frustrating.
When I first started working out, it went down to 54kg! But then it climbed up, and down, and up, and down, and frankly, I'm sick of it. I quit maths to escape the indoctrination of numbers.
Scales are indiscriminate. They don't care whether you're light or heavy because of the presence or absence of fat, muscle, guts, brain, air...it's all one and the same. But it doesn't work like that. I'm not a walking ball of fat. I'm working out, and I'm feeling good, and I'm looking better. I am not gaining weight, not as fat, anyway, and if my scales don't agree with me then that's the end of our very tempestuous relationship.
My scales are so ancient they should be in a museum - they're one of those tired, world-weary, older-than-thou specimens from your mother's trousseau. It literally throws every number in the book - if you step on it too hard, you'll suddenly gain ten kilos, but I have been known to miraculously become like 30kg if I don't step on it 'right'.
So that is that. I don't care what I weigh anymore. As long as I feel good, and look good, I'm happy; no matter what number the scales throw at me.
My workout at the moment is a half an hour affair, and it's fun. I can't emphasise how much fun it is to just throw yourself into some hardcore stuff for half an hour, and forget about the dramas of school, and study, and exams, and homework, and ball, and boys. I work out with my iPod which has lots of 'workout' playlists that I've made on iTunes: something understated to warm up to, two tracks of weights, two tracks of cardio and two tracks of dancing, and then another quiet track to cool down to. That's eight tracks, which, in this day and age, is about half an hour. It doesn't have to be very accurate.
But my dog hates it. I race up and down the stairs, I run, walk, jog, skip around the house, and she always thinks I'm rushing around to go out (because I normally fly up and down the stairs collecting random things for my school bag/purse when I go out). I dance to music that she can't hear. She spends my entire workout attacking me (when I'm stretching on the floor) or chasing me up and down the stairs on the off chance I'll walk out the door and take me with her.
Dancing is amazingly fun. Our school did a brief stint of Zumba, which is corny but ridiculously fun, but then they made the oh-so-wise decision to start it again halfway during exams, so it was scrapped. Zumba was fun, but also extremely harcore and quite long - two hours - and I was seriously concerned that my heart condition could not put up with it. I'm not a trained dancer - I mean, I did ballet and jazz a long, long time ago in a galaxy far, far away - but any girl can swing her hips to the beat. Bellydancing is soooo much fun, and it makes you feel super good - it unleashes this hidden, don't screw with me Amazon in you, and I love it. It gets my endorphins humming.
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