HASAY update. I had a lame week. Literally. I pulled a muscle attempting a step aerobics class on Wednesday night so I
whined a lot limped along through most of the weekend. That and the projectile vomiting from my son earlier in the week meant I only exercised three times. I wasn't too bad with the Weight Watchers, but obviously I have to be even MORE well-behaved, because when I stepped on the scale today there was zero change. Bah.
After the step aerobics class Wednesday night (which we will NOT being doing again, what with the injury and the total lack of coordination and the generally looking like flailing idiots), Paul tried to grab me for a hug.
"Ewwwwww don't touch me I'm GROSS," I wailed, squirming away.
"Fair enough," he replied, but I could tell his feelings were kind of hurt. I mean, I'm pretty sure he'd snuggle with me if I was cracked-out, had been lying in a sewage ditch for a week and had given birth as recently as five minutes ago. He doesn't care. But I felt gross after the workout, two-days-worth-of-grime-and-sweat-and-may-possibly-have-forgotten-to-brush-my-teeth gross, and that doesn't exactly lend itself to closeness.
"Tell me again, why I'm doing all this sweating and stinking and...and STARVING?" I lamented.
"Um...for your health?" he replied dubiously.
For my health, right. Isn't a large component of your health HAPPINESS? Because all these endorphins are nice and all, but you know what makes me happy? Really good food. Great wine. CHOCOLATE.
I'm having a hard time NOT getting hung up on the number on the scale. I feel stronger, I feel good about myself when I eat alfalfa sprouts, I want to maintain an active life so that I'll set a good example for my family. So that I'll be around for my family. And, kettlebell class aside, I'm having fun trying new things and working out with FoN (tomorrow we may try a hula hoop class. Because apparently we have learned nothing from our step aerobics experience, nothing). When we're not
trying to kill each other at the gym united in this common cause, we usually only see each other once a week or less. So it's nice.
It's just frustrating to not SEE any progress. All I have to lose is eight pounds to put me at the top of the recommended weight range for my height. It's only eight fucking pounds, how hard can it be?
And if it's "only" eight pounds, why am I so bent out of shape about it?