Today was weigh-in day, and I hoped upon hope for a good result. I exercised almost everyday (still working on getting to six days a week). I was almost good, food-wise. Key word: almost.
Yesterday, I practically derailed all the good work I’d put in for the week. To put it simply, I was hungry. Before lunch, I’d already eaten a bag of Cheetos and drank a Coke, and I’d had three servings of cookies minutes after I’d got out of bed. All I could think about yesterday was food, food, food. And did I remember that I had weigh-in the next day? Of course, I thought about it every time I shoveled something into my mouth. I tallied calories and am happy to report that I stayed within my budget. I’m not happy to report that I could have made better choices.
Which brings me to today. I got lucky. I lost half a pound, and I’ll take it. Half a pound down is better than half a pound up. Do I want to beat myself up? Of course, but what will that accomplish? I’m on this weight loss journey to learn better eating habits, and yesterday was a lesson in how not to eat.
So, if someone can extend a hand, I’ll grab it, lift myself off the wayside, and continue walking alongside you in the hopes that one day, I’ll run again.