Oy vey...

It’s been a while since I wrote last…so let me try to catch up…

After the weigh-in, I was feelin’ good. I had lost those 2/7/however many pounds and was proud. I kept up with my regime every day. I went hiking with Anna on Saturday, where we were given more reason to dislike Colorado meteorologists. Those bozos claimed it would be in the 60s that day, and when we went to hike at 9:30 in the morning, it was a crisp (and by crisp I mean I’m a pansy, and it was frigid) 40 degrees. My poor little ears were red and ringing, but we powered through the cold and power walked. Count it!

I planned on going to Bodypump on Sunday morning as well as zumba on Sunday afternoon. Instead, I slept. Bodypump could wait. Anna and I zumba-d our asses off Sunday afternoon. We went to a different gym, and I’m pretty sure the class before ours was hot yoga, because the heat was clearly on…add 40 or so women shaking their asses and jumping around, and I was literally dripping. I grossed myself out. But I kinda wanted to get that sweaty every time!

Anna was busy on our normal zumba-Tuesday, so I took the liberty to take the day off myself. I was doing pretty well with the eating part though. I was back to my grilled chicken and veggies, and pushing loads of water all day long. By Thursday, it was time for Bodypump. We went back to see Christine, the evil bodypump instructor. She yells at us to, “Embrace the suck!” to, “Push yourself! Feel the change you’re creating in yourself!” and to “Get lower! Don’t stand up! That’s not a squat!” She’s a bitch and I love it. I upped my weights ever so slightly from the week before, and was able to do all the exercises. The next day, I could feel a little tightness in my muscles…just enough to remind me that I had worked out the night before.

That night of Bodypump…that was a bad night. I left the gym feeling great and full of endorphins. I decided to grab a sandwich at Jimmy John’s. I picked one with sprouts and cucumbers and turkey and avocado and a whole bunch of other sounds-good-for-you-crap. I didn’t think anything of the mayo and decided that wheat bread would be a better choice than French bread. 731 calories later, I was satiated and in post-sandwich heaven. I thought that surely, though the sandwich was insanely calorie-loaded, the workout before it would counteract.

The next morning was weigh-in. Overnight, (I weighed myself Thursday morning at school) I had gained a pound and a half. Granted, I hadn’t fully digested…if you know what I mean…but still! I was discouraged.

At some point on Friday, an allergen terrorist found solace in my sinus cavities, and I was subsequently feeling crappy. My weekend workouts were shot. So I went to Walgreen’s and bought a pint of ice cream. And ate the whole thing. In one sitting. In my snuggie. Oh yeah, laugh it up.

My counselor says when I’m upset, I’m self-destructive…I mean, where does she get this shit? That’s so obviously false…

By the following Monday (January 30), the terrorist had left my nose, and I was feeling better. Monday nights are notoriously nuts for me. I have homework power hour at school until 5:30, then by the time I clean up my room and get home, it’s 6:00, and I have to leave around 6:45 to make it to Anna’s in time for The Bachelor. Priorities, bitches. Plus, it’s very entertaining!  Clearly, I didn’t go to the gym on

Tuesday, I skipped weekly zumba so I could catch up (almost) on grading, go home, and cook a real meal. I made homemade chicken piccata (recipe from some healthy living website) I LOVED it. I think it is one of the best things I’ve ever made. And that’s saying something because I love to cook. But, to be fair, it is one of my favorite Italian dishes. Steve, on the other hand, did not love it. At all. His lack of a reaction made me really sad. I pride myself on my cooking, and if my husband didn’t like a dish, it hurts. I get that chicken piccata has a different taste and not everybody is going to like the same foods. But still, the seventh grade girl in me was a little hurt. Totally unnecessarily and stupidly, but whatever. I’m emotional!

The following two days were stressful as kids consistently showed me that they were capable of NOT doing what was asked of them. All day long. By Thursday evening, the snow was pounding down, and I was too exhausted to go burn calories, pump my body, or even sweat to the oldies. I went home, reheated some leftovers, and plopped on the couch. I was passed out by 8:30, and when Steve got home around 9:00, he sent me to bed.

Now it’s Friday, and another weigh-in has come and gone. The kids were better today, but my weigh-in was not. I think I need to re-examine my diet. Those commercials talking about regularity and feeling bloated are starting to resonate with me. If that’s too much information, deal with it; let’s move on. Before I hit the hard stuff, I think I’ll invest in a little of Jamie Lee Curtis’ endorsed product.

Anyway, this week I maintained. I guess it’s better than gaining, but the pre-birthday chocolate cake I’m eating while typing probably isn’t going to work in my favor…

I have been off the last two weeks. I let my diet slip, I let my water consumption dry up, and thanks to my self-disappointment, I’ve even stopped writing. Well that’s horseshit. It’s time to get back on the wagon. Or is it off? I guess if I’m trying to be fit, I shouldn’t get a ride…even if it is on a wagon…sigh. Walking it is. Maybe if I’m feeling brave I’ll jog. Maybe.

Tomorrow morning is bodypump again. I should go. I need to go. I love it once I’m there.

Now I just have to get my fattening-by-the-day ass up and go.