Here's the update I promised you all in Monday's post-Super Bowl blog entry.
It was either going to be a rant or a rave. See, I've been down this road multiple times. The rant will likely come in a future entry, when I've done everything right and the numbers aren't going down anymore. That'll likely happen when I've plateaued and it's time to incorporate more physical activity into my daily routine. For today, we've been hit with Winter Storm Liam, so I see some shoveling in my very near future. The winter won't last forever, though. If it would WARM up soon, we'll be able to go for walks by the lake we live near - something. I've got a basketball hoop set up in the driveway for my daughter - next year, she'll be joining her school's basketball team. While she can sink a basket more often than I can, she needs some work on her dribbling and her defense. So, I'll probably lose the last few stubborn pounds by teaching her some fancy footwork. But in order to be able to MOVE enough to do so, I need to drop some weight.
A second aside for a small inside family joke...when my daughter was asked about her ability in sports in general, she shrugged and said, "I have two lesbians at home to help me."
Now, for the rave...
Ok, so this morning, wearing only my birthday suit and socks to keep my feet from getting cold, I stepped onto the evil scale that had been banished into the bathroom closet since we moved into our house six months ago. Didn't want to see it, didn't want it to sit there and silently mock me every time I walked past it. Because it did. I'd see the scale, and immediately flash back to the juicy steak dinner I had the night before. Doused in gravy, too. The scale, even though an inanimate, non-living object, knows it too. I'll bet it just wants me to step onto it so that it can yell at me. I wasn't giving it that satisfaction, so into the closet it went! Until last week, I decided to give weight loss another try.
A few seconds after I stepped on, I was pleasantly surprised to see that I am now TEN POUNDS LESS than when I weighed myself last Wednesday. Ten pounds, EXACTLY! In ONE week.
There was no eating out, no fried foods. I did binge on chips and (oven baked, homemade) wings on Super Bowl Sunday, but I had my reserve points to fall back on.
Side note: WW has a point-system. Point values are attributed to foods, so if you have an 'oops' moment and go over the number you're allowed per day, there are some 'grace' points they give you for the week.
I calculated and logged everything I put in my mouth with my trusty app. I drank at least two 64-oz bottles of water for the last few days. Overall, I do feel better. I'm bored stupid with my food choices, though, I do have to admit. I'll gladly talk about these things in depth with anyone if they want to discuss privately.
"You're shittin' me, right?" I'm talking to the scale, that no longer looks like something out of Fangoria. It almost looks pleasant. Who the hell calls a scale 'pleasant?'
I step off. Back on. Same number. More talking to myself.
Guys...I CAN do this!
"You and me are going to be friends, now," I say to the scale as for the first time in forever, I didn't feel the need to chuck it out the window. Then I'm talking in the high pitched voice that I usually reserve for my orange tabby who usually accompanies me as I move from room-to-room. "I will say hello to you whenever I use the bathroom. I will visit you once a week. If you keep the numbers going down, I may even replace your batteries more often than never! Keep up the good work!"
The scale survives another week.
And I am back on the bandwagon!