As you may or may not know, I've been trying to diet. Again. Yes, I did that ultimately cliche thing of beginning a diet at the new year. The timing wasn't so much about a New Year's resolution as it was a coalescence of other factors: namely not fitting in to the wedding dress I ordered, turning the corner of my 31st birthday, and realizing that I was getting dangerously near 190 pounds - about 25 pounds more than I weighed at the beginning of this summer. But no worries, I haven't lost my mind: I designed my own diet plan. Rest assured, there are no fads or best-selling books involved - not even anything about vegan skinny bitches. I've been chronicling my progress (or lack thereof) on my food blog; I give you now the most recent entry.
* * *
Me and my bloated ass: week four.
Well, at least I haven't lost any ground. But I haven't gained any either. That's confusing, because in that metaphor losing weight would equal gaining ground and gaining would be losing... humph. Perhaps I should just tell you what I'm telling you. This week, my weight is 0.8 pounds less than it was last week. Not nearly as much of a change as I saw between each week increment for the first three weeks. The numbers:
1/11/9: 185 (starting weight)
1/18/9: 183.2 (less 1.8 pounds)
1/25/9: 181.8 (less 1.4 pounds)
2/1/9: 177.8 (less 4 pounds!!!)
2/8/9: 177.0 (less .8 pounds)
I think there are two main reasons for this.
1) I've been a lazy jerk, not cooking or counting my calories the way I'm asposed to.
2) It's the glorious time of month where I retain what feels like about ten gallons of water - but in reality that would be about 80 pounds, so I doubt I'm retaining more than an extra quart or pint. Still though, it could be affecting the numbers. Maybe.
It may also have something to do with the four pound jump the week before - I'm not sure what that was about. Maybe I was really dehydrated? Or something? So maybe more realistically the 4.8 pounds that were collectively lost over the past two weeks could be considered 2.4 pounds per week? Which is a really good rate. Almost a little too fast. I dunno.
The foot is getting better. Still nowhere near good enough to think about walking over the Queensboro bridge, as I would LOVE to be doing each morning rather than dealing with the trains. But at least good enough that I can resume my normal 10 block walk between 50th Street and 60th, thus cutting the second train out of my commute to and from work. Perhaps by springtime I'll be able to resume the long walks, the real walks, the good walks.
Anyway, what to do? Well, shape up. Get back on track. Any other such trite expressions you'd like to throw in that mean "do what the hell you're supposed to be doing - and no whining about it either!" Ooh, here's another one: I'm only hurting myself by not following the plan. Ever so cliche, ever so true.
Alright. So today we're going to the store. And no excuses - I'll cook some meals for the week. I'll have proper lunches (and dinners and snacks) laid out, have my work cut out for me as it were. I want this. I've been hiding parts of my body, trying to mask what I refuse to make a real effort to change, for two thirds of my life. It's so beyond time.
You can still be hot in your 30's, right?