So, I had about 4 glass pieces over in my LOST jar = 2 pounds. And this morning… I had to move 6 back +3 pounds. I’m negative…
Maybe I’m positive… whatever… plus pounds. Well, %$#@! me. I was pretty damned good last week. I played 5 hours of tennis. I ate well. I biked 10 miles. I had maybe two questionable meals. UP 3 pounds?
So, after my major morning meltdown and 5 miles on the bike with my darling adorable husband, I’m back dry-eyed, with pollen in my hair. What I decided while grinding up those hills was that:
- I’m still pretty strong. I know many a skinny girl who would not be able to bike those hills.
- It would be so much easier without those pounds!
- FAT is a choice… a bad one.
- Denial is real.
- My husband is an Irish saint.
But back to #3. I chose to eat those two “iffy” meals. I drank a couple of sodas too. And my husband might be right… maybe it’s water. Either way, I’m choosing to look this way and ultimately feel this way. It’s an ugly, painful truth.