The diet gods heard my roar yesterday. All of them. No, it isn’t miraculous — just simple logic. Stupid scale + stupid glasses (sensible food + 6 days of exercise) = respectable 3-4 lb. loss. I can live with that as long as that black skinny line on Thinner keeps nudging down the dial each Tuesday when I weigh in. Why Tuesday? Because I had to have a better attitude today than I did yesterday, or else. Now, I’ll settle in and look forward to two (count them carefully or you might miss them) TWO practical lbs. each week until June 1st which seems like it’s at the end of a very long yawn — mostly because of the wine deprivation. However, I still have endless horizons in the food department to keep me interested. Are you feeling sorry for the Master of the House (MOH) and RT? They’ll survive and eat well also. No shriveled up taste buds in this hacienda.
- In the godforsaken department of being perky about of this, here is my list of good things about my food plan:
- I will have fewer hot flashes at night (more exercise, no hardly any wine, reduced caffeine) and I’ll believe this when Hell freezes over.
- I will lose weight.
- I will no longer have a hitch in my giddy up when climbing my stairs.
- The MOH’s car won’t scrape on the speed bump near our community gate when RT and I are sitting on the same side of the car.
- I will be able to fit into last spring/summer clothes better than I did last spring/summer or the one before that, or…
- I will effectively deprive the neighbors of knowing and strike fear in their hearts, that I no longer have the recycler with the loudest clanking (two weeks of wine bottles) in the cul-de-sac as the recycling truck dumps it from a high altitude–or, from its mechanical arm, suspended above its large metallic bin.
- My body will be drunk on nutrients and slap happy on phytochemicals like beta-sitosterol and carotenoids or chlorogenic acid.
- My refrigerator’s veggie drawer will no longer have that science experiment gone awry look to it, lacking peppers growing fur, and cucumbers reduced to bottom sludge.
- I will look great.
Yesterday when the sun finally decided to come out and warm things up to a modest 66 degrees, I diligently went for my walk. Since I don’t have one of those pedometers, I took the time to get in my car after returning from my walk to measure the distance. Yes, gasoline is well over three dollars a gallon, but I was going to the store anyway, so that counts as multi-tasking. My walking route is 2.8 miles! Go figure. And I achieved my goal of spending 50 instead of 30 minutes walking. Unfortunately, I’m still having cramps in my lower legs and it is annoying. Is it my shoes? Am I walking too fast? Is it the inclines, my stride, all of the above?
I overcame this trauma by taking along my handy little camera, feigning ignorance when I noticed a few suburbanites who had paused while retrieving their trash cans wondering, “What is that thing in her hand? Why would she be taking pictures? Is there a law suit at hand? Who’s her attorney?” The camera was a pleasant diversion, so I’ll have to take it more often.
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