Numbers: Helpful or Hateful?

Numbers

Numbers used to rule my life. Whether it was the number on the scale, the number on the tag in my jeans or the amount of miles I ran each week, I lived by them. I relentlessly pursued perfection by using numbers as milestones. If I could weigh a certain amount, wear a certain size or boast a certain 5K time, I was bound to be happy. 

Right?

Wrong.

It was an empty pursuit. I didn't find perfection when I hit the milestones I set. Numbers didn't make me love myself. In fact, quite the opposite happened on many occasions. If the dreaded weigh ins did not reflect the desired result, I plunged deeper into self-loathing. If I didn't PR (personal record in running lingo) at every race I ran, I was a complete and utter FAILURE. If I DID hit my goal of weight, size or speed, my happiness was fleeting. In that split second, I felt the excitement of achieving something I had worked so hard for, but it never lasted. Like an addict with their drug of choice, I was on to the next weight goal, the next size down, the next fastest time.

I could have written this entire post, exactly, word for motherfucking WORD.

I wish I had. I'm seriously loving every post I read on this blog.

Here's the whole thing: http://cyndilourunning.blogspot.com/2015/05/numbers.html