temporary fix.

choses que j'ai fait ce weekend:

Okay, back up. I was checking up on my French grammar (because those damn VANDERTRAMP verbs still stump me) and I Googled "j'ai fait" and the first thing that came up was this:

"Almodóvar : "J'ai fait un cunninlingus à une actrice..."

Oh, Pedro. Vraiment? Look dude, I respect your artistic integrity, but it wouldn't hurt to exercise a little tact.

Onward:

On Friday I took the day off from work to accommodate my family's stop through town. I had lunch with boyfriend (two salads, one bowl of soup at Chili's) and for dinner my parents brought homemade burritos (I had one, it was chile relleno). Later that night I got munchy so I had a small cup of rice and beans with a bit of fresh salsa sprinkled in.

Saturday I made quesadillas for me and the boys. I had half of one on wheat with minimal cheese. For dinner my parents took us out to dinner, I ordered the baked ziti with shrimp and chicken and I had two small slices of wheat table bread. It was super indulgent. As if that wasn't bad enough, I convinced boyfriend to go to McD's for ice cream and I ordered a MEDIUM shamrock shake. I know, I'm ashamed. When it came down to it, thinking of only having a small made me break out in sweats so I had a moment of weakness and asked for a medium. Seriously, I'm just proud I resisted the large, it was that necessary.

On Sunday I had a small bowl of huevos con chorizo then I took my HEALED self to the gym. The pain in my right upper thigh finally went away after a very long five days away from the gym. I ran 2 miles on the treadmill and did another 2.5 miles on the elliptical. I WAS ON FIRE.

For dinner boyfriend baked some chicken drumsticks and I whipped up a pot of mashed potatoes. It was my intention to leave the potatoes for boyfriend and take the meat from one drumstick to add to a salad, and instead I ate all that and a salad. Shame.

Last week felt so out of control being away from the gym. I was aggravated and stressed and I lost control of things. I honestly felt like my eating was running away from my grips and I feared what the scale would have to say to me. Today's weigh-in: 249.5.

Encore, dans le cas où vous n'avez pas entendu la première fois: 249.5!!

It doesn't feel the way I thought it would. I thought there would be tears, or at least a jump for joy. Not even a single leap. Nothing. Rien de tout. I was happy for all of eight seconds before the lengthy to-do list in my head recaptured my attention.

Give blood, post office, gym, bank, pilates, dinner, clean...

Ugh. Today's sad, sad realization (it's also happy and enlightening at the same time) is that EVERY.POUND.COUNTS. Every half pound, and every tiny fraction that accumulated over the last few months. It all counts. So this weekend's half pound is important, but no more important than the half pound before it or the half pound after it. The truth is, I still have a long way to go. I'm proud of every single thing I've accomplished but I don't have the luxury of indulging in self-congratulatory practices every time the scale changes a little. It's all good, but my butt still bounces when I run.

Gotta work on that.