One of the things that’s been on my mind lately re: the scale is how many times it’s completely derailed me. How many times have I spent two solid weeks eating really well, exercising the crap out of my body, drinking gallons of water, only to find that I’ve actually gained a pound? And is there anything more demoralizing than that? My reaction then is usually to throw up my hands and wonder why the hell am I even trying? There’s no point to healthy eating and exercise, clearly, we might as well eat an entire pizza in one sitting.

I know there aren’t many other ways to track minute changes in weight, but honestly, the scale has made me feel worse more than it’s made me feel better, and when it makes me feel worse I tend to treat my body very poorly, so honestly, it’s just counter-productive at this point. I care so much less about the number on the scale than I do about being able to run for 30 minutes, or having stronger arms. And lately, I don’t know that I even care as much about fitting into smaller clothing (more on that in a later comic). I mean, if I’m biking fifteen miles a day, eating pretty well, running and lifting weights, and my body still wants to be this size, maybe I’m tired of fighting it. Maybe I’d rather channel that energy in other, more productive directions.