I pulled the scale out from its hiding place in my linen closet. It was tucked behind the humidifier and an obnoxiously large stack of toilet paper. It had been at least 4 months since the last time I weighed myself. It was time. I had to know. But before I stepped on the scale I decided to make a guess based on how I felt and how my clothes were fitting.
I was active, my clothes were gaping around my waist, and I felt beautiful, shapely (the good kind), and aside from being tired from chasing a baby around the house all day- pretty energized.
Yea, 154 lbs sounded about right.
I stepped on the scale and to my surprise the numbers read
170 lbs? No way! That is just 4 lbs less than my biggest self. Nooooooo, I can’t be 170 lbs. I don’t feel like I felt when I was 174 lbs – Lethargic, ashamed, bloated, spilling over the sides of my pants.
I stepped off the scale and replaced it in its hiding spot, baffled, but not upset.
I’m still waiting for the wave of shame to come, but it hasn’t. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I really hope it doesn’t, but I have never weighed this much and felt this good about myself ever.
And guess what?
Not that I have to prove to myself that this weight is okay, but maybe I just need to remind myself what my body is capable of– this morning I shaved 7 seconds off of my 3 mile run. I’m far from my fastest mile time, but I’m running! The past two years I haven’t been able to run consistently because of a ridiculously tight IT band and a bout of crazy depression/anxiety. I AM RUNNING AGAIN!!
And this time I’m not just running. I realized this the other day when I set out for my run. I started by putting on my normal running jams: T Swift, The Biebs, a little bit of old school Fall Out Boy, and some other semi -embarrassing artists for my 30 year-old self to get pumped up by; but it just wasn’t cutting it. The songs that used to get my legs pumping just seemed “Blah, Blah, Blah” (oh yea, and Ke$ha, she’s on there too).
I took a moment to switch my playlist, and out of habit more than desire, I selected my “Pump Up the Jesus” playlist. Yes, I actually have a playlist named this. I’ll post it at the end. This was the playlist I usually blasted when I needed to rally myself to clean my dishes.
As I picked up my pace again I began to get lost in the words, in the praise, in the worship, and suddenly like a fool, I was running with my arms raised up towards the heavens!
“By your spirit I will rise from the ashes of defeat,
the resurrected king, is resurrecting me!
In your name I come alive,
to declare your victory,
the resurrected king, is resurrecting me!”
I didn’t run the entire time like this; I mean come on, people could see me; but it changed my perspective on my morning run. Instead of running for me– to build my strength, to drop weight, to get in shape, to become healthy—I was running in praise of the one who already made me strong, who already brought me back to life, who was currently resurrecting my body and telling me to throw of anything that kept me from him. I was running to Him. I was running for Him! And then I was running for my neighborhood. Right now I can only loop about half of my neighborhood before I run out of stamina, but I was realizing that as I ran I was praying over the houses and the people living in them. I was praising God for them, and inviting the Holy Spirit in to fill the space I was encircling during my run.
Something about this thought really pumped me up. It pumped me up more than the thought of looking slim and sexy in my bathing suit. It pumped me up more than the thought of running so I could eat a piece of pie. It pumped me up more than the thought of impressing my husband with my ability to get up at 5am for a morning run. And not only that, it pumped me up so much so that I shaved off 7 seconds from my time!
So here is the truth of my situation: I weigh 170lbs and every single pound of that muscle, skin, fat, bone, etc. is praising the One who will redeem me and my neighborhood. Praise Jesus!
Ok, here’s my playlist…enjoy, and clean those dishes!