Last week-139 1/2
Let's take a deep breath and think it through:
1. I look amazing. I wish I could show you my obliques; they are a thing of beauty.
2. I am comfortably wearing a pair of USA size 13's which look painted on. God Bless Spandex!
3. Thanks to the peanut butter and my need not to disappoint Peggy, I haven't eaten between the peanut butter and 5AM in three weeks, even if it means taking hot baths at 430AM and then counting minutes until 5AM. Gut is shrinking accordingly.
4. That time of the month.
5. Self sabotage-just before the scale, I did some heavy reps on my shoulders/chest and biceps. Not quite an Arnold-size pump, but definitely some blood hitting the muscles.
6. I'm still down 50 FUCKING POUNDS from June of 2013.
1. I feel like shit.
For what it's worth, aside from the usual crapola fest at work, I'm in the middle of a bit of existential despair about how long I can stay in this position and all the reasons I can't leave. For instance, I got a prescription for Vicodin (yeah, we'll talk about that soon) filled last week for $5.00. Yes, boys and girls, $5.00. That ain't gonna happen if I chuck it all to go follow my bliss walking dogs. So the one glimmer of hope I was counting on to keep today from being a complete morass of misery was the idea that I'd be down at least another 1/2 lb.
It's all part of the process, and NOT an excuse for any self-pity eating. I had my sugar snap peas this and an apple at 10 and I'm 15 minutes away from veggies/fruit and protein for my first "full meal" of the day.
Tomorrow is another day and next week is another weigh-in.
But god I fucking HATE the scale right now and especially myself for caring so much.
The problem is basically that I thought I was hunky-dory and looking good at 191. So I can't trust anything but the hard numbers, even if the hard numbers can be influenced by anything from sun-spots to water-retention.