I really feel like this week has been a re-boot for me in terms of my effort with weight watchers.
Going back to the gym almost every day, eating salads instead of fried foods, snacking on fruit instead of pastry. Instead of being hard, returning to all of my healthy habits feels like slipping into a favourite, perfectly-broken in pair of jeans.
But I know that if I step on the scale tomorrow morning and am not totally satisfied with the results, I am going to have a minor freak-out.
Losing weight was so easy for me in the beginning. May - July, even August, it was exciting and fresh and new. Late August - October wasn't awesome. It outright sucked. And November and December were half-hearted, sad attempts to convince myself I was still on a diet, still working to lose weight, even while I packed in another cookie or got comfortable in the groove on the couch made by my increasingly wide rear end.
I am feeling better, eating well and working out does that for you, but today was SHITE - not work stress, but a too-much-general-stress, too-many-unknowns type of stress. I didn't want to go to the gym at 6:45 when Gary got home, but he'd had a crappy day. I knew he'd feel worse without working out, and then I'd feel worse, and that's a nasty downward spiral - so we went.
40 minutes with Stacy and Clinton on the elliptical and I feel a little better. So it's 9:00 and we haven't eaten yet. So what. So I don't lose 10 pounds overnight. So what. So I haven't lost as much weight as I thought I would have by now. So what.
Cross your fingers for me, guys.