Anyone for Pi?

3.14159265359….

So this is Pi.

If you’re math/number orientated like me, 3.14159 was probably the furthest degree to which we would know, or even need to know, for the numbers of Pi. If at the mention of Pi, a baked steak and kidney stuffed pastry comes to mind, then odds are, you’re probably slightly more normal (in not assuming numbers), and know the only 3 numbers we even needed to know anyway, 3.14. If you know many more numbers beyond this (seriously impressive!); I’d possibly suggest avoiding reading the next few words.

They are just numbers.

If you don’t know the numbers, no one else will know this, no one will probably even give it a second thought that you don’t know this, and the button on the fancy calculator knows it for you anyway. These are the words, of somewhat advice, that I now try every day to continue to conform to, but just with respect to the scales instead.

Scales, as far back as I can remember, have never been a life-standing essential to our bathroom utilities. Weighing myself was more so just something I would do upon visiting a friend’s home, when I could be bothered to do so, or just to see what hugely negative impact the giant share bag of Maltesars I just sociably consumed with them, had on my weight… Minutes after I’d eaten them…I was never overly concerned with the number shown on the scale because my general response was “I’ll run it off tomorrow”, which by no means lead me into a false sense of security, because I actually would run it off the next day, due to the fact I was markedly committed to athletics training at the time. The only occasion at which I began to avoid the scales like the plague, was several months down the line (now about 3 years ago) after returning home from the most incredible 4 months travelling through South America; a, let’s just say, slightly widened version of the less cultured me. As it is probably the same for most, it’s never easy to so visibly see weight gain glaring back at you on the gauge, whatever weight you may already be. It can bring about such overwhelming feelings of unnecessary negativity and sometimes not knowing, really doesn’t hurt.

I have always known this, even when I started becoming excessively obsessed with seeing the scales at the gym lowering over the past year. I was so deflated every time the numbers were not significantly reduced as well as being fuelled by such a dark euphoria every time I saw them dip below a new kg. In knowing this, why did I continue to persist in weighing myself 2, 3, 4 times a day (I eventually purchased my own), initiating such negative anxiety and emotion each time? Because I still just wasn’t thin enough and I should be lighter. There would be days where I’d be positively itching to weigh myself as a result of a substantial period of restriction and increased exercise, so I knew there was a chance I could see a lower kg result from my hard efforts.

I was incessantly told to get rid of the scales; by friends, family, the internet, but I never listened, immersing myself ever deeper into the illness and my warped mentalities; until only about 6 weeks ago. Perhaps it was because I hadn’t been trying hard enough before, or I wasn’t ready to recover or because I now knew I had finally reached a number that just was not healthy or functional for my body anymore. Irregardless, I think hearing the nurse at my first hospital appointment so transparently tell me why I was creating these unnecessary negative emotions massively helped somewhat (I still can’t even understand why that seemed to have helped, because it wasn’t even something I hadn’t heard before!)

Though I needed to be weighed at said appointment and my proceeding appointment last week, I have not weighed myself for 6 weeks, and honestly, it has been amazing. Hard at times, but not knowing… really doesn’t hurt; because it’s just like Pi right? Just numbers.

 

 

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