I write a lot about the successes I have in trying to get healthy and lose weight because I know it encourages my friends who are going through - or just thinking about going through - the same process. Judging by what I've seen happen amongst my friends since I started talking about this process back in January, sometimes all a friend needs to get started on the process of wellness is to hear someone else talk honestly about the process.

In the process of getting healthy there are plenty of days when you just know that you're doing what is right for yourself, and you need no additional encouragement. But there are other days, other weeks, that we don't always like to talk about. The weeks where the weight doesn't drop, the workouts are a struggle, and the only thought racing around in your head is "Why the hell do I bother?"

It just hasn't been a good week.

When you diet, the first thing you do is watch the numbers on the scale for tangible results from your efforts. Eating sensibly - not dieting - coupled with a rigorous combination of cardiovascular exercise and weight training requires you to forget the numbers on the scale. Forget them. Absolutely, totally, and utterly forget them.

It's hard to let go of the numbers on the scale when your mother breezily announces that your sister has gone on a diet to lose weight for summer and that in a short amount of time she's lost about thirteen pounds. I've never come close to really and truly quitting this workout program, but I can't even begin to explain how sad and frustrated hearing that news makes me, when I know that I've been at this life project for three months and can only point to a total weight loss of about five pounds.

Despite the pity party, that's not the entire story. I'm so hung up on the scale that I haven't been able to give the other changes their deserved due: two dress sizes smaller, two band sizes smaller, improvements in heart rate, improvements in blood pressure. Not to mention the strength changes, which bemuse and surprise Val (my trainer) to no end.

I bench-press a hundred pounds now. By next week, I'll do more, and more the week after that. It's more than most women will ever do, and I'm not even three months into weight training. I'm definitely capable of more.

But to me, my success or failure is measured by a number whose spikes and changes I don't really understand and can't predict. My mind takes the number and extrapolates from that one bit of evidence whether I'm 'succeeding' or 'failing.'

Jeff's right. I put too much stock in that number. I've chosen to take the overinformation tack: if I track the daily fluctuations for a few weeks, and there's a pattern to the fluctuations, I'll find it. Otherwise, I may have to go back to just weighing every few days.

* * * * *

Goal jeans #2 arrived today. They are one size down from my current size, and they fit everywhere except my waist, which surprised me. I didn't expect them to be so close to fitting just yet. When I took them out of the box and held them up, they just looked like ... jeans. I couldn't really eyeball the difference between them and the jeans I'm wearing now, so I went into my closet and dug up a pair of the workhorse 22s I use a lot now.

The 22s went on the bed first, spread out fully, neatly. Then the 18s on top of that. I lined up the waists and looked at the differences. Really looked at them. I reminded myself that in January, the 22s were too tight to wear comfortably; now they're comfortable, and the waist is starting to loosen a bit.

Once, the 22s weren't me at all. They were too tight. Right now, they are me, but soon enough, the same will be true of the 18s. Eventually my shape will fit in that shape...and, eventually, some point after that, the 18s will be too loose.

Eventually they'll be the bottom pair of jeans on the stack.

I just have to hang on to that.

Did you know it hurts pretty badly when you accidentally whack yourself in the forearm with a thirty-pound dumbbell? Not to mention the nice yellow lump you start sprouting because of it, too. Oops.