This is a cool confluence of events. On the day I had my first date with my wife, I weighed myself and I was 253 pounds. The 7th anniversary of that first date is this week, and this is the week I hit that milestone. Strange, but cool.
Now 3 pounds is a big leap from prior weeks (lost 4.5 pounds in the prior 4 weeks). Was I extra tight on my food intake or food choices? Nope. Did I exercise more? A little, because the weather has been nicer. Did I cheat more or do more to shock my system? Not really. I’ve relaxed the carb restrictions a bit more, but am trying to keep to reasonable portion/calorie restriction and keep to whole grains, veggies, and foods with a low Glycemic Index value.
My wife brought home donuts on Friday, thinking it had been a stressful week and we could both use a treat. Normally, I’d gobble that donut with a big glass of milk. But I’ve become a bit like Elaine in that episode of “Seinfeld” when she’d judge guys on whether they were worth using part of her hoard of contraceptive sponges, asking herself if they’re “spongeworthy.” For a minor cheat, there’s no problem, but when I’m going to take in that kind and quantity of sugar and white flour, I’d have to take an extra shot of insulin. So I look at certain cheats and ask myself if they’re “shotworthy.”
The donut was not shotworthy. On Saturday I weighed myself because my mom and step-dad were going to be coming by and I wanted to have the latest numbers when they asked “how much weight have you lost”. I weighed in at 254 and was happy. Even if that had persisted until today, it would have been 2 pounds for the week, which is a good number.
I wasn’t expecting 253 this morning. I’m not expecting 250 next Monday. I’d love to see 250 next Monday, but I’ll be happy just being under 251.5 next week.
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