As promised, I am sharing my latest adventures via blog today… Enjoy! 🙂
Since I last posted, I have changed my weigh in day from Monday to Friday. I feel it keeps me better motivated through the week and, if I am a little naughty over the weekend, which I usually am, it doesn’t tip the scale Monday AM. I’ve also started working out 5 days a week; I am at Curves every morning, Monday through Friday, without fail. I’m down to 221.4 lbs., leaving me 6 weeks from today to lose 21.5 lbs – 3.5 lbs/week – to be 199.9 lbs by my 26th birthday. Is anyone else tired of hearing that as much as I am?
As you can see, I’ve made some serious improvements to my regimen in the last month or so yet, I still can’t get over that damn number hang up. I guess once I get something in my head and decide that I want to achieve it, it’s hard to let it go… In fact, I’ve become somewhat of a scale-Nazi now, stepping on it multiple times a week or even multiple times a day/hour/minute, trying to gratify myself with the knowledge that I am on track, losing enough weight to hit my target and not working out 5 days a week for nothing more than a guest appearance with Bea Arthur and the rest of the Golden Girls that gather at my gym everyday!
With all of that being said, allow me to share a slice of insanity with you:
Yesterday, I stepped on the scale and I was down to 220.2. Hot shit, right?! Yeah well, not so much when you then eat oatmeal for breakfast, gumbo for lunch and a greasy but oh-so-tasty taco for dinner before your 9 AM weigh in the next morning. I stepped on the scale after doing as much petty walking as I could in the gym before I looked strange and out of place to any of the other regulars, as if that would aid me in shedding any significant amount of weight, and what do you know, I’m up to 221.8… WTF?!
Of course, at this point, I begin to berate myself for the amazing taco I had from Abe & Tommie’s the night before which, as I type, is attempting to contribute to the post my making gaseous noises in my stomach and cause rumbling in my rectum. TMI? Stop reading because this only gets worse! However, I start my workout knowing that I will shed a few tenths of a pound by the time I’m done and it won’t be as bad as it was when I walked in. Then, in a small stroke of geniusness, I realize that if I could just drop a deuce, my weight would definitely go down! I begin to work harder on the machines and jog faster on my cardio boards, praying that it forces my bowels to expel themselves. I’m not gonna lie here, I even pushed a few times while running, just to see if I was ready or not. Don’t Judge Me! Finally, I felt a pressure on my rectum that could only mean one thing!
I ran to the bathroom with a little extra pep in my step, knowing that God has answered my prayers and the scale won’t look so ugly after my workout. I shut the door, lock it, pull my leggings and panties down, plop on the porcelain bowl and I fart. Fine, it’s like step one in the process, right? So I sit there and begin to push & push & push but nothing… Absolutely nothing! After a solid 3 minutes of trying to coax my colon into a spontaneous performance, I gave up. I washed my hands and went back to my circuit. When it was all said and done, I did shed .4 lbs between my workout & my gas but still… What a let down!
Of course, the instant I got to work, it was really time and, for a split second, I thought about driving all the way to the other side of town again to weigh myself again. (I told you I’ve become a scale-Nazi) but realized that was not a sane move to make and sat down at my desk and continued my day.
From now on, it’s shit or get off the scale for me. Shit’s too heavy in my book!
Maybe next time I’ll share my story about my boss & I giving our butts the pencil test to ensure we aren’t getting a case of NoAssAtAll…
I missed sharing with everyone! Have a good weekend!