This is what you get for writing long, rambling entries about what a champion weight loss supastar you are, being so smug and wise. It is now a few hours before my weigh-in and I feel like a total PORK.
Sometimes you can just feel it in your bones that you're headed for a non-pleasant rendevous with the scales. Right now my ovaries are starting their monthly rat-a-tatting, it's the dreaded Week Before where I am a moody shit and want to make love to a family block of Cadbury's Dairy Milk.
And surely it's not water I'm retaining. It feels like wet cement. So be prepared for an onslaught of Cranky Dietgirl entries over the next little while.
Of course I am not one to blame my problems on my women's troubles. That's what contributed to me nicking off from many a dieter's forum online, I got sick of people reading memebers blame everything on "T.O.M." or "Aunt Flo" or "The Great Red Sea Of Hell" (I made that last one up). Fair enough you can expect to gain a little then but too many of them seem to use it as excuse to not exercise or eat a pound of peanut butter. For me, exercise really helps. The aching muscles after a good workout ensure you don't notice the pirahnas gnashing away in your womb half as much!
Anyway. I don't dig those online forums. Too many silly abbreviations. OP=on program. TOM=time of month. FF=fat free. LF=low fat. ALILNAWDWBC=ate a litre of icecream last night and washed it down with a bucket of chocolates. Etcetera.
I am also cranky because I haven't done enough exercise. I was SO fired up at the beginning of the week after the great loss on Monday and an inspiring new copy of Slimming magazine (I am so going to be in that magazine someday! Just you wait. Slimmer of the Year 2003). I was all ready to start some light weight training and step up the cardio a bit, but my stupid injury reared it's ugly head. I have some screwy bits of back and shoulder thanks the Korean Sweatshop I work in, or should I say Prestigious Web Company, from rather repetitive work. I am having physiotherapy for it and thought it was improving. The physio was pleased with my weight-loss and exercise regime, but told me I needed to build some muscle, and in particular get some strength in my back. She told me to keep up with the rowing machine and showed me some exercises to do with free weights. I should have known better, really, because on Friday I couldn't even lift my coffee cup, my shoulder/arm/wrist hurt so severely. On Saturday I thought it felt a bit better so I got the most teeeeeeeny tiny one kilogram weights and attempted the exercise. AAAAAAARGH! I felt like my arm was being ripped from the socket. I almost cried.
On Sunday (yesterday) I couldn't even hold onto the arms of the cross-trainer machine with my right hand, it's not at all strenuous, but with the gammy shoulder it was hell. I ended up doing some light stretches and my sister showed me some easy moves from her Pilates class.
But I was CRANKY! So cranky, I tells ya. Why? Because I am FINALLY getting my health in order and I am just RARING to go! I desperately want to step up my exercise and just simply can't bloody do it at the moment because of my STUPID arm. It sucks that sitting on my arse at work ended up getting me injured. Sigh. Heal! Heal, you damn body!!!
It's amazing how I am just craving to do more. Last night I was out walking the dog, very awkwardly as I had to hold the leash in my left hand. It was right on dark, about 5.45pm, very quiet on the streets. Suddenly I just got this overwhelming urge to run. So I gallumphed down a slight hill. I lasted about 20 seconds before I started coughing and sputtering. Classy. But I felt a little rush and had a sudden spring in my step. The dog went crazy, bouncing up and down, probably because it was the most vigorous activity he'd ever seen from me.
We went around the corner and I decided to head back as it was a bit too scary and dark to stay out. Near the top of the hill I stopped, squinted in the blackness to see if anyone was around. Nope. So I said to the dog, "Let's go, boy!" and started jogging up the hill. That felt a bit too jerky, so I sped up until I was full on running! It felt fantastic! I felt like I was flying! I felt so alive! I had a huge grin on my gob. The dog barked happily and I raised my hands in the air and cheered as if I was bursting through the tape in the 100 metres final. But finally my big lump of a body had had enough and I stopped, breathing hard. Then I looked around to see how far I'd jogged. About 20 bloody metres.
Oh well. Ya gotta start somewhere.