It’s my 19th wedding anniversary today and that part of the day was happy. My husband and I spent a lot of time goofing off in mazes. Yes, mazes. But the day started out discovering that for no good reason whatsoever, the scale crept up overnight, leaving me 1.4 pounds heavier with a new target number of 73.2. I got my 7500 steps in yesterday, dammit. I ate reasonably. I did everything right. And the numbers mock me. No wonder Weight Watchers tells you to only weigh once a week– but what if the one day a week that you weighed was a day like this one? I know this is an anomaly, but still.
Then I decided to run barefoot on the treadmill, and that, my friends, is a mistake. Now I have a blister on the bottom of my foot, so no, I didn’t finish all 7500 steps. Sorry. Only logged 5093.
A friend, who happens to be a professional baker, was on the doorstep this morning with three bags full of the most glorious bread you can imagine and a dozen + wonderful bagels. I can resist, I can resist, I can resist. Well, actually, I don’t have to resist– it’s great bread and well worth eating, I just have to maintain some kind of modicum of virtue about it.
We were indecisive about going out for dinner– finally decided to buy steaks instead– and then we were too tired to cook them, so we just sort of noshed on whatever was handy. Yes, bread.
Today’s menu: Strawberry Greek yogurt with quarter cup granola, toasted bagel with a little butter, plain hotdog and two-thirds of a hotdog roll (not much to choose in the land of mazes) and orange juice, two cups of watermelon, 2 slices of bread, four ounces of tuna, half a cup of blueberries with a dollop of vanilla Greek yogurt.
I’m not giving up. I just have to believe that tomorrow is a better day.