So today was weigh-in day. And I knew I wasn't going to see what I wanted at that scale for a few reasons. Firstly, I checked my personal scale earlier in the morning and I let out a great big "Carajo" when I saw a number that I was not expecting, which one should never do before 6am (both weigh-in and curse). Secondly, I am in the midst of a week when it's no fun to be a lady. The baby-making machinery is being fine-tuned, if you know what I mean. And, historically, I have always put on 5-7 pounds during this week due to water retention and yadda-yadda-yadda. Which usually means the weigh-in following this week will be quite satisfying.
That said, I still approached the scale today with a pout on my face. I felt as though I had reverted to my five year old, pig-tailed self, when I was denied a Baby Alive.
Swap baby alive for a scale, and, well, you have a travesty.
I arrived to the meeting at 1:30pm, almost not showing up. At this point, I was tantrumming for a variety of reasons, one of
which had to do with the earlier "Carajo, I gained weight" moment in my
bedroom. I ultimately made my self go, despite wanting to hide behind
the piles of work that were thrown at me just as I entered the office.
Indubitably, I, in fact, man-ed up and made my merry way to the meeting.
Before approaching the scale, I managed to take off as much clothes as possible without fully embarrassing the other members in the meeting. I mean, they came for weight loss guidance, not a free show. Additionally, I attend what is known as a WeightWatchers "At-Work" meeting, where WW goes to your place of employment and hosts a meeting there. It's been a God-send for me, and I adore my leader, Barbara. That said, I have to also be aware that I am still at my place of employment and therefore showing up to weigh-in wearing a wife beater and boy shorts may not fly. So you gotta be creative.
Because of the so-called snow storm that was suppose to invade the city today, I wore jeans, which is a weigh-in No-no! However, the last time I wore a very light springy skirt on a windy, snowy weigh-in day, I flashed most of Midtown Manhattan. So, I thought since I "knew" it was going to be a gain, who cares what I wear?
Apparently I did.
I dragged my hormonal bratty ass to the scale after proceeding to remove as much clothing that I could, all hair pieces (the one bobby pin), and jewelery (my work i.d.).
As I stood up on the evil complacent-looking apparatus, I kept telling myself, "It's ok. You know the drill. It's ok. Next week will be better. Early morning boxing sessions, Refine classes, and saying no to cheesy bread is ALL worth it."
And there it was, folks. An outcome that floored me.
No loss. But no gain. Which leads me to believe that next week, I will have a pretty fantastic loss!
Unless I chose to celebrate by giving in to my hormonal cravings of warm pizza and brownies. Not at the same time, though. Well, I don't think. . .
Can you believe this image exists in a google image search?!?!? There's hundreds of these!! And you guys think I'M crazy!
Well, rest assured I did not celebrate by indulging in the above. I decided on a great salad, a latte, and some strawberries. Then I went to Refine, which was pretty kick ass! I out-did myself, which included full form push-ups, lots of arm work, ab work with a kettle ball, and lunges. Lots and lots of lunges. I even received a Twitter shout out from the Brynn, instructor extraordinaire and creator of the Refine Method, telling me how much stronger I was getting, which made this closeted brown-noser feel mighty giddy.
So I feel good at this moment!
Are my clothes looser? Yes!
Is my collarbone resurrecting? Absolutely!
Have I been caught checking out my butt in the restroom at work? Sadly, more than once.
All good signs I am on the right track!
Here's to next week, folks!