I can't sleep…
No Almonds. No Butterfingers. No Caramel. No Cookie pieces. No Chocolate chips. No Chocolate sauce. No Heath Bar crunch. No Gummy Bears. No Hot Fudge. No marshmallow. No fudge. No Reese’s Peanut Butter pieces. No walnuts. No strawberry. NEED. IT. RIGHT. NOW. No chasers. Straight up….
Image Source: andrewbreitel via marcdesa
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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:
