Ya know, sometimes you do everything right and get nothing for your hard work. And then sometimes you let things slide and find yourself rewarded for slacking off.
Consider last week one of the latter situations.
Despite trying to see the positive side of a plateau, I was still feeling irritated about being unable to make the scale move. That irritation translated into sloppy habits: grabbing not one but two cookies at work, eating fast food more often than I should, and choosing to not log my calories for a couple of days because it was just too tiring to think about.
I did go to my bootcamp class on Tuesday night, where I was completely whipped by my trainer. Not sure if that night’s routine was harder or if my lazy self was getting weaker, but I really struggled through it.
And then, on Saturday morning I stepped on the scale, fully ready to take the beating I deserved for a week of indulgence.
The number displayed was 166.8.
Not only did I finally break the 169 plateau, but I slid down over two pounds. I’m officially at my lowest adult weight ever.
I felt good, too. Looking in the mirror, I could see the two images of myself switching back and forth – still seeing the “fat me” that my poor, troubled brain perceives, but also seeing the muscle definition, the smaller waist and hips, and the healthier version that the mirror is really reflecting. I’m becoming healthy. I’m witnessing my risks for several diseases drop with each inch that disappears from my waist.
(And then I celebrated by eating too much that night and having cake for my husband’s birthday the next day. Eh, you win some, you lose some. No way I’m stepping on the scale again until I’ve had some time to detox from food overload. I seriously doubt I could get that lucky with the scale ever again.)
