You are beautiful. Your
beauty, just like your capacity for life, happiness, and success, is
immeasurable. Day after day, countless people across the globe get on a scale
in search of validation of beauty and social acceptance.
Get off the scale! I have yet to see a scale
that can tell you how enchanting your eyes are. I have yet to see a scale that
can show you how wonderful your hair looks when the sun shines its glorious
rays on it. I have yet to see a scale that can thank you for your compassion,
sense of humor, and contagious smile. Get off the scale because I have yet to
see one that can admire you for your perseverance when challenged in life. ― Steve Maraboli
It’s true, the scale can only give you a
numerical reflection of your relationship with gravity. That’s it. It cannot
measure beauty, talent, purpose, life force, possibility, strength, or love.
Don’t give the scale more power than it has earned. Take note of the number,
then get off the scale and live your life. You are beautiful!”
“She'd even violated
the only sensible rule of dieting she'd ever run across, the sage advice of the
Muppets' Miss Piggy, who recommended never eating anything bigger than your
head.”
“Every weight loss
program, no matter how positively it’s packaged, whispers to you that you’re
not right. You’re not good enough. You’re unacceptable and you need to be
fixed.”
“You want to know the
story? I'd be happy to tell you. I think I have just enough caloric energy
stored up to make it through the telling of the tale. It's short. I am
monstrously fat. I am a glutton. My wife was disgusted and repulsed. She gave
me six months to lose one hundred pounds. I joined Weight Watchers . . . see it
there, right across the street, that gaunt storefront? This afternoon was the
big six-month weigh-in. So to speak. I had gained almost seventy pounds in the
six months. An errant Snickers bar fell out of the cuff of my pants and rolled
against my wife's foot as I stepped on the scale. The scale over there across
the street is truly an ingenious device. One preprograms the desired new weight
into it, and if one has achieved or gone below that new low weight, the scale
bursts into recorded whistles and cheers and some lively marching-band tune.
Apparently, tiny flags protrude from the top and wave mechanically back and
forth. A failure--see for instance mine--results in a flatulent dirge of
disappointed and contemptuous tuba. To the strains of the latter my wife left,
the establishment, me, on the arm of a svelte yogurt distributor whom I am even
now planning to crush, financially speaking, first thing tomorrow morning. Ms.
Beadsman, you will find an eclair on the floor to the left of your chair. Could
you perhaps manipulate it onto this plate with minimal chocolate loss and pass
it to me.”
“I looked at him
nonplussed. I realized that I have spent so many years being on a diet that the
idea that you might actually need calories to survive has been completely wiped
out of my consciousness. Have reached point where believe nutritional idea is
to eat nothing at all, and that the only reason people eat is because they are
so greedy they cannot stop themselves from breaking out and ruining their diets.”
“Really? If I could
hate my trainer? That would be ideal. I'd prefer to despise this person with
the fire of ten thousand suns. So when I walk - nay, crawl - out of here at the
end of my workouts, I want to lull myself to sleep by picturing my very
talented and inspirational trainer getting hit by a bus. A
bus that I am driving.”
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