I have long been an advocate for not paying any attention at all to the scale. But every now and then there's a little milestone on that cursed machine that you just have to stop and celebrate.
I'm just back from my weigh-in – 112.54 kilos. That's 247.59lb! What does that mean?
- I am finally finally FINALLY under 250 lb.
- I have finally finally FINALLY cracked the 100 lbs lost mark! 102.65 gone!
I had a fantastic week. The week before was a shocker. A close family member passed away, and I turned my grief into fat. Cheesecake, chinese food, you name it. But I kept exercising. I did post a gain, but this week I got right back on track. I remembered this time last year, the very same week, when family problems saw me go completely off the rails for months and months. Not going to happen this time.
100 pounds! Woohoo! I can't believe it!
But more important than the scale is the tape measure. I got re-measured last week – this happens every four weeks. I was all pissed off about the gain on the scale, but then discovered I'd shrunk:
Chest – 4.5 cm gone
Hips – 4 cm gone
Waist – 10 cm gone
10cm in four weeks! How many inches? Umm. I think an inch is 2.5 cm? So that's four inches off.
Holy crap. I got the chick to re-measure just in case. I knew something funny was going on coz I've had to yoink my pants up all the time. I thought they'd got stretched in the wash. Ha! I wish my stomach would shrink that dramatically!
Anyway. I really cutting out the processed crap has helped big time. I know exactly what I'm eating and where it comes from. Just the wholesomeness of the food seems to be making a difference.
Then of course there is That Bloody Mountain. I have been managing to haul myself up there once a week. God I hate it! The first 20 minutes are purest hell. Hell on an severe incline, that is. My thighs go twing! and I huff and puff and swear and tell my sister There is no fucking way I am going to fucking climb this fucking hill any fucking further and she just laughs.
Once we get to the top, I limp around yelling, "KING OF THE WORLD!" until jelly legs force me to sit down. Then it's another 40 minutes to walk back down. And by the time we get back to the car, I'm thinking, "Hey that wasn't so bad. Piece of cake!"
Until of course the next day when I wake up and every muscle is screaming. On Sunday I only made it halfway up, I'd really hammered myself at Body Combat on Thursday, plus I hadn't drank enough water during the day. I've found I just drag my ass if I don't keep hydrated beforehand (we don't do the walk til about 5pm).
I really think it's the stinkiest bitch of a thing I've ever done, exercise wise. So that's why I'll keep on doing it.
Btw, thanks for the lovely guestbook and e-mail people who've piped up lately. Diary-X doesn't have comments so the good old GB will have to suffice, until (if) I get the energy to go back to Movable Type