1 pound. 16 measly ounces. A slice of cheese for god’s sake. It shouldn’t bug me as much as it does. It shouldn’t have the effect it does on my psyche, on the way I feel when I put on a pair of pants, but it does. I gained a pound over the past week. It is all the more disappointing in that I haven’t lost that much weight since I started this whole thing either, maybe three pounds (now two, yip-fucking-eee.)
I have started a food log, but I haven’t been that consistent just yet so unraveling the mystery of where I could make some adjustments is all the more challenging. Compounding that difficulty is the fight within my brain about doing what is good from a dietary standpoint and what is good for, you know, enjoying life. I mean am I at the point where that extra meatball (well, ok two extra meatballs) is the difference between losing and gaining weight? Am I never to eat treats at work again? Ok, I had a tollhouse square, fluffernutter bar, a couple of cookies and…I’m beginning to see the point here.
I have decided on few changes already. Truth is, a colleague has given up the work sweets and I’m all for tagging along. Also, for budgetary as well as dietary reasons I’m limiting my lunches out to once per week. I’ve been pretty consistent with working out at before or at lunch time, but I need to get back to doing a lengthy run over the weekends. Hopefully after I write this I’ll get out for five miles.
Admittedly though, gaining that pound really knocked the wind out of my sails. I keep on comparing my weight loss and fitness to my past. The first time, and most successful diet discipline I engaged in was a huge success. I remember the high point (low point?) of seeing my weight within a few pounds of my BMI. It has been a steady, if slow climb since. It is hard to fight the feeling that my past success means I “deserve” a bit of a bye, an easier road to get to my goal. Unfortunately, aging really seems to go against that. Let’s see what next week brings.
Thanks to the Oatmeal for the image.