It's been three weeks now, and I still shudder. So much fear and trepidation. It went something like this.
We got back last Friday, and it's now Tuesday morning. That's getting back from 17 days on that cruise ship. 17 days of gourmet cuisine, fixed the way you like it, for breakfast, lunch and dinner, not to mention snacks, every day. For 17 days. Okay, okay. I guess I said that already. And don't even get me started about the unlimited wine with meals package that we had. Debbie and I joked about how we were putting on a pound a day. Yeah, I managed to run a little on the ship, but nearly enough to compensate for those 17 days.
Now it's time. I don't want to do it, but I really can't put it off any longer. As I step on the scale I think about how I've been pretty good. It's been fairly normal eating over the weekend, followed by my usual partial-fast yesterday. Furthermore, I got some running done over the weekend. It was tough to go out against the cold, but I managed, with the help of some friends. Sure, I can still tell that I'm a couple pounds north of where I ought to be, but surely not too much awfully so.
It is too much awfully so, The scale nearly busts, and then tells me that I weigh 172 pounds. That's around 12 more than three and a half weeks ago. Not quite one a day... but then I think that at some point over the weekend or previous week, I likely did tip the scale at 177. I can hardly believe my eyes. I don't think I've weighed this much since my high school football days.
Nowadays, I'm only beginning to get over this. One may have hoped that if one can put on a pound a day, one could also take off a pound a day, right? No, it doesn't appear to work that way. Oh, the weight is coming down. But only gradually. Very gradually.
Here's the silver lining. I've been running okay (once again, friends help), and my AT pain doesn't seem so bad these days.
Thus it's not all gloom and doom. There are some bright spots on the horizon. Heck, we even have a brand-new, shiny president. What could go wrong?
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