At this moment I’m torn between wanting to kiss my scale and wanting to find the nearest heavy object and smash the heck out of it. Yesterday morning was my official weigh-in day. I got up, and stepped on the scale with incredibly high hopes.
I had good reason to. After all, last week I had put all my effort into being a good WWer. I passed up strawberry cheesecake ice cream and chocolate-caramel-pecan brownies. I huffed and puffed and looked like an incredible fool on my bike up and down the hills of my town for a total of 2.5 hours, plus did Tae Bo twice and walked my behind off. Every day I checked off the good health guidelines, including crunching up a Flinstones vitamin like clockwork.
Weight: 247 lbs.
And here comes why I’m having such mixed feelings towards my HealthoMeter friend – yesterday I ate a cupcake, two mini chocolate eclairs, two of my grandma’s homemade banana bars, a croissant with swiss cheese, and a 6″ Subway sub. What does the scale say this morning? Oh yeah… my mini goal of 197.
But I’m no cheater. I’ll wait until next WI and take what the scale says then.
But I’ll be pretty grumpy about it until then.