Like I said, throughout the week I’ve had some pretty crazy highs and lows on the scale. It’s been quite a ride for this Fatass who weighs her self like eleventymillion times a day. Some people have scale rituals – anyone remember Carlos and his tappity-tappity and his stepping on the scale 3 times? – but I don’t. I guess it would be hard to have a ritual eleventymillion times a day. Somebody would have to call that show. What’s it called? It’s like Hoarders, but for people with OCD?
Anyhow. Trophy Husband went first. He’s down 3. Which was great for me because usually dieting with him is like that commercial where the couple switches to diet soda and the cartoon guy gets skinny, and the cartoon girl gains a pound. So the fact that it was something normal and not something Biggest Loser-ish made me happy. Yes. I’m selfish like that.
Me? Well I weighed in at 212. Down 2.
I’m about 94% happy. I feel like I worked harder than that, what with the dealing with stress in healthy ways and not with alcohol and refried beans. And the working out even with sick kiddos. And the braving the Carolina heat and humidity to actually be outside. Like, with no air conditioner.
I’m also dealing with a little time of the month issue which I like to call timeofthemonth.
But I’ll take it. Down 2. There is officially less of me to love.
Okay. So I’m faced with another weekend. I’m going to keep my goals for surviving it simple and just about the same as last week. Three workouts of the cardio variety, and I’m going to shoot for an additional 2 of resistance. Aside from my morning coffee, I am only going to drink water. I’m going to stay out of restaurants for now, too.
One day at a time.
Have a great weekend, ya’ll.