I don't know where that came from, but it's what I said when one of my survivors told me, "Oh, that's too much. I could never lift that." turns out she was a lot tougher than she thought. The weight I gave her was heavy, but she knocked out her three sets, and I felt like a genius. I wasn't, of course. I was just passing along a lesson I've learned about numbers. They describe you, but don't let numbers define you.
Numbers on a scale.
The size of your pants.
Your time in the 5K.
The tally of your birthdays.
There are numbers that tell you where you are.
Your first love.
Your third marriage.
Your second childhood.
Your fifteen minutes of fame.
There are numbers that tell you what you've done.
12 marathons.
7 no-hitters.
1000% return on investment.
$400K a year.
And numbers that tell you what you can't do.
One chance in a million
50% prognosis
16th seed in the tournament.
A lot of people worry about their weight. They're trying to eat right. They're coming to the gym. They're lifting more pounds, running more miles, swimming more laps, playing longer, laughing harder, and sweating more than they ever have before.
And they feel like they're failing.
Because of a number on a scale.
My friend played Pickleball for an hour with me the other day. Afterwards, she complained that her weight isn't coming down the way she'd like.
She had just spent an hour running around a court with a wooden paddle, whacking a ball across a net at me and laughing her head off. When I first met her last fall, walking from the car to the gym was a painful chore for her.
Where is the scale that measures that? How do you weigh loving your life?
You don't measure joy.
You live it.
Peace,
Pennsy
Please visit http://www.crowdrise.com/pennsyycky and contribute to my fundraiser, Living Strong at the Y. We can do so much together.
SOOO well said!
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