Every morning. Same ritual. Groan in preparation for the morning weigh-in. I take off every stitch of clothing thinking that my underwear somehow will tip the scales. (Am I a child?) I take a deep breath. My food intake from the prior day flashes by. Hoping for a miracle here – thinking maybe, just maybe, my super metabolism worked harder overnight – – given that I slept well and all. (Are you serious? This is going to be bad.) Then, I then step on the scale. Damn it. No miracle. And this is even after grinding out my work-out three days in a row.
Here’s the score card:
| Day |
Activity |
Distance |
Calories Burned |
Weight* |
| Friday |
Elliptical |
5.3 miles |
525 |
205.6 |
| Saturday |
Run |
4.7 miles |
470 |
205.0 |
| Sunday |
Run |
5.0 miles |
500 |
205.2 |
(*Who am I kidding adding decimals)
So, I just finished my run. And decided to tally up the tonnage from yesterday’s feeding frenzy – – and humiliate myself in front of all of my closest friends. GOING PUBLIC. LETTING IT ALL HANG OUT THERE. Here we go:
Continue reading “Running Hard To Stay In Place…” →
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