Despite my little break from good eating last week, I glad to say I didn't gain much. 1 pound, actually, and I suspect that’s water weight put on by last nights run in 98 degree heat with unbelievable humidity. And yet for some bizarre reason I am STILL holding out hope that I can be under 200 pounds by the end of this month.
Not possible, I know. And furthermore, 7 pounds in a week would be drastically unhealthy even if I could lose it, and you’d probably have to scoop me up off the floor with a spoon I’d be so worn out. And yet ... you know ... to weigh something that starts with a 1would be so marvelous. :daydreams:
I have, so far, not made any of the goals I’ve set for myself along the way. But I’m never far behind. Back in late May I had a goal of weighing 220, and while I didn’t make that I did get there less than a week later. So it’s not too bad. And I realize that goals are often unrealistic, and don’t take into account the fluxuations in weight loss, but I do it anyway. I am the least mathematically competent person in the world but when it comes to weight loss I’ll have a flow chart that would make NASA engineers weep with happiness.
In other news, the weekend was fabulous. I holed up in the house on Saturday and read Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince until my eyes hurt. I didn’t get out of my pajamas until evening when I peeled myself off the chaise lounge and went for a run. Sunday was much the same, except that I did manage to make it to the library and Target for cat food, but then right back home for a nap and time with another book. I used to have Reading Weekends like that all the time, and now that my life is busier I miss them a lot. I still read at least a book or two a week, but I get to it in snatches (while eating dinner, before bed, during breaks in traffic *g*) and I much prefer a few uninterrupted days when I can read until I have a headache and a crink in my neck.
I must admit it is still odd for me to spend a weekend like this one reading but not eating. I used to plan out my meals and snacks according to what book I was reading, and I’d have my whole weekend menu planned out in advance. Reading Austen? Tea and cucumber sandwiches, then, or boiled egg on toast. Rereading an old children's lit favorite? Grilled cheese and tomato soup, maybe, or a box of some chewy Swedish Fish. My food tended to match the genre that I was reading. I’d go into more detail, but I'm too embarrassed. ;)
Anyway, this weekend was very different. I ate wonderfully, and it felt good to keep control. But you know, while I understand that it was better for me, I have to admit that part of me missed my old routine. Sometimes I think the hardest part of changing my diet is that quite often my old routine made me very happy. The results didn’t, of course, but the event itself did.
Am I the only one who sometimes feels a pang of nostalgia for their bad habits of yore?
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