Stupid Scale

I weighed in on Saturday morning at 206.5. I weighed in this morning at 211.5. Now, if you can tell me how I gained 5 pounds over the weekend, I'd sure like to know. 

I ate fairly well all weekend, did an hour of Zumba Saturday, indulged in 3 light beers Saturday evening, walked for 90 minutes at the zoo on Sunday, and enjoyed a tasty French Toast breakfast and a healthy light dinner on Sunday. 

Did I eat perfectly? No. Did I eat enough to pack on five pounds? No way. Not even possible. So I don't know what is going on with my scale, but I'm not going to waste any more time stressing out about it. 

I feel good. I feel strong. And my clothes fit better this week than they did last week. So I say pffft to the scale. My obsession with weighing a specific weight ends right here. I will weigh myself once a week to track my progress, but this weighing myself often through the week stops now. 

I am not defined by a number on a scale. I measure myself by how I feel. And I feel great. So take that, stupid scale. You're not the boss of me.