If weight automatically meant health, I should have been healthier at 47 kg than I am at 52 kg.
I wasn’t.
When I was in my early 20s, I weighed 47 kg. (For context: I’m 156 cm tall. Rawr.)
I spent most of my day sitting, playing video games, studying biology—more as a hobby than a full-time commitment—and working long shifts on weekends. If I had to run after a bus, there was a good chance the bus would win.
The strange thing is that I loved sports as a kid.
Somewhere along the way, movement disappeared from my life. (Just like books. Don’t worry, I found both again.)
Eventually, I realized something had to change.
So I started moving again.
First gymnastics. Then running. One session per week turned into two. Two turned into three. Slowly, movement became part of my life again.
A few years later, I still weighed 47 kg.
But this time the story was different.
I was running, hiking, climbing, cycling, and cooking most of my meals. From the outside, I looked healthy.
Yet mentally, I wasn’t doing well at all.
I was exhausted. Burned out. Constantly trying to be there for everyone else while forgetting to be there for myself.
Different problem.
Same number on the scale.
That’s why I always find it interesting when people tell me their main goal is to lose weight.
Not because weight is irrelevant.
But because weight is easy to measure.
Health isn’t.
A scale can tell you how much mass gravity is pulling toward the earth.
That’s about it.
It doesn’t tell you how much of that mass is muscle.
It doesn’t tell you how much is body fat.
It doesn’t tell you how fit you are.
It doesn’t tell you how well you sleep.
It doesn’t tell you whether you can carry your groceries, hike a mountain, recover from stress, or enjoy your life.
Today I weigh around 52 kg.
Five kilograms more than I did back then.
And I’m healthier than I’ve ever been.
I can put on my running shoes and go for a 10-kilometer run on a Saturday afternoon.
I can book a cycling vacation through Italy, Slovenia, and Croatia and call that relaxation.
I can run a half marathon in under two hours.
I can climb 1,300 vertical meters on a ski tour and still have enough energy left to enjoy the rest of the day or week.
None of that was possible in my early twenties.
And some of it wasn’t even possible in my late twenties.
The scale says I’m heavier.
My life says otherwise.
Just because you weigh less doesn’t automatically mean you’re healthier.
And just because you weigh more doesn’t automatically mean you’re less healthy.
The scale measures weight.
It doesn’t measure the life you’re building.
🧪 Let’s Experiment
Sometimes the problem isn’t your progress. It’s the scoreboard you’re using.
Many of us track the easiest number available.
Weight.
But easy-to-measure and important-to-measure aren’t always the same thing.
🎯 Try This:
For the next week, stop asking:
“How much do I weigh?”
Instead ask:
- How well did I sleep?
- How much did I move today?
- How is my energy?
- How strong do I feel?
- How stressed do I feel?
Notice which answers actually tell you something useful about your health.
🧠 Final Thought:
A bathroom scale can measure your weight.
It can’t measure your fitness, resilience, relationships, happiness, confidence, or ability to enjoy a Saturday afternoon.
Those things count too.
Keep it simple, stay curious, and keep learning—you’ve got this.
Take care,
Carina 🦊