I’m fat. How can I tell (besides the nearly year off of serious training after my back injury last year)? For one thing, I have boobs. For another, I dress for work not by what I want to wear that day, but by what fits. So maybe I should say plump and keep it context but it’s enough to prompt me to play Personal Biggest Loser for one week, starting last Friday. It’s not as easy as you might think because each day has been a normal splurge day. For example, today’s is youngest birthday and there is a frosted cookie cake screaming my name. And yesterday, I hadn’t seen my friend A for such a long time that I invited her over and had some triple cream Brie (mmm). But for all that, I have lost 1.5 pounds I think. It’s not quite for sure since my fancy, schmancy scale is dying and I’m being too frugal (another story for another day) to purchase a new one. Stepped on it 3 times and got three different numbers. Finally, times 4 through 7 were consistent so I’ve determined that’s the number for today. I need to work off some of the extra stress weight plus the leftovers from when the Addison’s meds were out of whack.
The weather cooperated (high 92 yesterday) so I ran both weekend mornings and I can’t remember the last time I did that. Bender ball and Pilates tape and we’re good to go. Tomorrow I will run stairs in the morning before anyone else arrives in the office with bike ride planned for the Monday evening. My friend and colleague, Beth, is joining in but started Saturday due to a pre-planned Friday night date at a Mexican restaurant. Understood.
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