Also, Husband has been sick for most of the week with a bad summer cold, a terrible cough, and a weird and painful blister under his tongue; he feels, sounds, and looks dreadful, and that adds another layer of anxiety and oddness to an already un-fun series of days.
Anyway — last night I was Done. After a week of small meals, no alcohol, and regular exercise, I had nachos and two margaritas (after I ordered the second one, Mimosa said, "I guess you're giving up on your weight, huh?" Lippy girl) and a bowl of Ben and Jerry's AmeriCone Dream, which has about 3,000 calories, most of them from fat.
And this morning, of course, is Weigh-In Day.
And the final rotten cherry on this sundae of horrid is that my darling boy kittens, foul beasts that they are, have taken to pooping in my beautiful bathtub — randomly, no discernible pattern nor any clear reason. (They started doing it when I bought a bag of dry food that everyone hated, but that was months ago.) And the incidents are just far enough apart that I can be lulled into thinking that we're past this phase. The last time they did it was, I think, early June or possibly even May, and I truly thought it was over. But no — they left me a special gift last night. Jerks.
It was a banner morning, I tell ya.
So, a couple of things:
- Having Weigh-In Day on Sunday morning is stupid and self-defeating. I work hard during the week; on the weekend I like to get my ya-yas out. (Ya Ya!) Weigh-In Day is now Friday.
- On my first weigh-in of the morning, I was at 253, up half a pound from last Sunday.
- Before stepping on to the bike path, Professor John, Husband's BF, sped by on his bike with a cheery greeting for both of us. We love Professor John.
A few steps in, two Madrigal parents rode by calling "Hi Lady C!" I said, "Did you see Mimosa?" (They've known her since preschool.) Madrigal Mom smiled warmly and said, "We sure did!" Madrigal Dad said, "Was that Mimosa? She's beautiful!" And that is always a nice thing for a mama to hear.
- The first song that came up on my iPod was Daughtry singing "Wanted: Dead or Alive," which I love.
And when I came home from my walk, I sponged off the sweat and weighed myself again: 251.5, 251, and 250.5 (depending on where I put the scale).
You know what? I'm going with 251.5. This means I've lost a full pound since last week, which I honestly think is accurate.
I also have a new strategy (besides switching when I weigh in): Though I'm faithfully doing my zumba/walk/cardio/aerobic combo, I'm much less faithful about my weight-lifting and core work. I now have it on my calendar, three boxes of each to check off per week — it seems like a no-brainer but I haven't done it that way before, and this will help me, I think.
OK! Time to do chores — in 80-degree weather and dry air. Bliss.