Yes, yes, I know it’s been over a week since I last posted. I have been working out hard, eating fairly clean, and trying to stay well as cold germs start to congregate in my kids’ classrooms. They both have come home sniffling and sneezing over the last two weeks, and the upper respiratory crap is hanging on for dear life. Whenever I feel my nose start to twitch, I down the trusty Airborne like it’s the nectar of the gods. I hope the teacher who invented that miracle stuff is rolling in the profits.
Now, for the (ahem) update. I’ve been a fairly good little girl, considering my birthday fell within the last few days of non-posting. As I’ve said before, I will NOT give up my wine and coffee. I have, however, I must admit, been dabbling with a few carbs. Nothing bad, just a little more brown rice, and high protein pasta to help fuel my demanding workouts. I felt like I was scraping bottom just trying to get through an hour plus of pumping weights, and didn’t feel like I was doing a great job. Talk about burn out. My energy levels were on par with a slug. Throw in a few carbs, and wham bam, thank you ma’am, I was pumping iron and increasing my weights with a vengeance.
All that extra activity, however, did not translate into massive weight loss. Call it slow metabolism, call it old age, oh hell, call it downing a half bottle of vino periodically, but the number on the scale didn’t budge. Before I descended into wrist-slitting depression, I decided to take my measurements and compare them with where I started. Bingo. I HAVE actually been accomplishing something. I’d lost an inch off my waist, and over an inch off my hips (hips and butt being my nemesis), not to mention that when applying deoderant, my biceps/triceps no longer do that jello-jiggle thing they used to.
Mentally, I always knew that muscle weighed more than fat. I’d always been told NOT to judge myself by the number on the scale, particularly when lifting weights. It’s funny how we have this perfect number in our brains that make us believe that we will be happy when we reach _____ pounds (you fill it in), or when we can fit into a size ____ (insert anything but a size 0 here, Mary Kate). Too bad my hubby promised me that dream all-inclusive vacation when I reached that magic number. Something tells me I should have held him to “inches lost” or “sizes gone down” instead. By the time I reach my goal weight, that tropical island may have just succumbed to global warming and disappeared under the Caribbean Sea!!!