I haven't talked about this yet, but what the heck: I'm trying to lose some weight. In the past two weeks, I've lost about five pounds, and I think ten more will put me in good shape. I want to take better care of myself, and first and foremost is to lose some weight, eat healthier foods, and exercise more.
I am incredibly proud of my efforts so far. Right now, as we speak, there is a cinnamon crunch bagel from Panera sitting on my desk. My boss brought it in to thank me for a project I worked on. And I'm not eating the bagel. The scales have fallen from my eyes, and I now realize that all of those articles I've read about portion size are now joke, because that bagel, without cream cheese, contains 410 calories. Last weekend when Steve's parents visited, I also did not eat the pineapple cake or the gigantic wedge of cheese that my mother-in-law brought into my house.
I feel good, and I can already see a difference in how I look and how my clothes fit. The frustrating thing is that I have snuck onto the scale a couple of times in the past few days (my weigh-in day is Sunday) and so far I haven't lost any weight this week. What the hell?
Still, I am resolute, and if that scale doesn't budge by Sunday morning, I am going to crank up the exercise even more, working in a run every day if I have to.