Tuesday, August 28, 2012

on why I want to put my fist through the wall.

So.  At the end of January I wrote this.  The beginning of my journey to lose like 10 pounds.  By now I thought for sure I'd be rid of those 10 pounds.  I thought FOR SURE.

Since then I have been running, eating healthier, did a bootcamp twice a week for 16 weeks.  My clothes fit a little better, I'm definitely stronger.  I can run four or five miles now with relative ease.  All of this sounds well and good until I tell you this.

I have not lost ONE GODDAMNED POUND since February.  Not one.

The 'eating healthier' was fewer carbs and calories but until two weeks ago I was still drinking wine on the regular (my vice, seriously) and grabbing a handful of goldfish here and there.  We ate out a lot and despite good menu choices it's still not as healthy as eating at home.

So.  About 10 days ago I gave up carbs.  Wine.  I gave up wine.  And bread. And pretzels.  Sweet stuff.  Short of a spinach smoothie (with greek yogurt) with fruit in the morning, the amount of carbs I'm taking in is not even worth talking about.

And still.

I have not lost ONE GODDAMNED POUND.

I'm not asking for 30 pounds. 10.  Just 10.  For no one other than me.

And that, friends, is why I want to put  my fist through the wall.  Or the scale.

Cause... really... if I weigh the same when I don't eat (or drink) the things I love, as I do when I do eat them, they why bother???