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.
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???