No rest for the weight-y

30 Mar

On Saturday the Husbot and I took the long hike we’d planned for–10.5 miles through the Santa Cruz Mountains.  The hike is considered strenuous, and they estimate that it takes six hours to complete.  We finished in about four-and-a-half, though our pace slowed down to a snail’s for the last mile.  I’m not gonna lie, my toes felt like raw meat in a dull grinder.  No bueno.  We got home, showered, and rushed out the door so we could meet our friends at…BINGO!

That’s right, we played bingo.  Nay, we *paid* to play 27 games of mind-numbing, dauber dashing, full-force bingo.  And then we go drunk afterward.  Though we didn’t win anything (not one of the eight of us even got close) we had a lot of fun.  I don’t need to play bingo for the next five years.

Sunday was spent with our family, not doing a whole lot of anything.

I haven’t weighed myself again since last Tuesday.  I should have weighed myself this morning but I felt a little bloated.  I’m scared to get back on the scale because even though I’m sure my calorie exertion is higher than the intake, what if I don’t see a loss?  What if I see a disheartening loss of ounces?  What if I’m down four pounds today, and up two tomorrow?  It’s a cruel game to play with myself.

I know a lot of people are proponents of throwing out the scale and using your clothes to tell you what’s up.  My problem is that I own a lot of stretch jeans, so while I can tell a difference in how my pants fit, my perception is skewed because of the elastine/spandex/polystretchanol.

We’re going on a Caribbean vacation in a few weeks.  I really wanted to be 10lbs down by the time we left, but I’m not sure that’s gonna happen.  Whether or not it actually does will not hamper my vacation, I swear.  (But knowing I’m gonna be in a bathing suit/shorts/or *gasp* tanktop has my insides churning up an afternoon defright.)


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