Dropping like a Feather

This morning, my bathroom scale read 184.0. That’s about a pound less than it did last week. Slightly disappointing, as my food journal (which I just began this week) seems to indicate that just cheating even a little causes me to put on the pounds. I get just a whiff of that birthday cake, and my body responds by adding a pound of fat. Ugh.

But 184 pounds is also a confirmed 4 pounds less than 2 weeks ago— So on average, 2 pounds per week. And that’s encouraging. At this rate, I’ll weigh 176 (which is almost “normal”) by Valentine’s Day (knock on wood), and hopefully looking a lot more sexay.

A few months ago, I reported that I had lost over 10 pounds and was finally able to fit into some of my old shirts again.

What I didn’t tell you is that I had lost most of that weight by early 2012, and that by the summer I had gotten stuck at 190-195 pounds, which is still about 20 pounds too heavy (and several inches too thick around the middle). As of the beginning of December, I still hadn’t lost any more weight (and may have gained some back), and I was sure my cholesterol numbers still hadn’t improved sufficiently, and my annual physical was coming up fast.

This is so not fun.

This morning, when I checked my outdoor digital thermometer, the sight buoyed my spirits. I honestly thought it said 68°F. After all, yesterday the temperature hit 50. Why shouldn’t it get even warmer today? Somehow, first thing in the morning, that made sense. In my morning stupor, I had missed the decimal point, otherwise clearly visible between the tenths digit and the ones digit.

I am so not a morning person.

Last week, I swear I heard Phil promise us an early Spring. I’m convinced he did so to make up for the way the Steelers played on Sunday. But, O Phil, if Spring is to arrive early this year, why does the sun yet rise so late in the morning? Why does the chill yet inflict my toes with frostbite? How come I still have to scrape an inch of frost off the car every damn morning?

I am so not a morning person.