Well, it's the first of the month, my official weigh-in day.
I've gained four pounds since the first of the year, BUT … I've lost five in two weeks. (If you'll remember, I had a major freakout when I got on the scale a couple weeks ago. M@rla had to talk me down.)
Five pounds in two weeks. That's pretty amazing. And that's also a lot of walking, five miles almost every damned day between then and now.
I'm trying awfully hard not to be discouraged, but the fact is our bodies become accustomed to our activity level and it won't be long – next week, probably – before I'll have to add a mile, or add another activity, in order to continue the downward trend.
It's not that I don't have the time. I don't work outside my home and I don't have young children to care for. It's this: At my age (I'll be 59 soon), and at this weight, I don't have the energy to do much more than I'm already doing. My house is not falling apart, I manage to get dinner on the table every day, the bed is somewhat tidy and the floors – while not clean enough to eat on – are presentable.
I try to walk in the morning, and will continue to do so as the weather continues to warm up. But a morning walk, at times, wipes me out. And as the weather continues to improve, so the outdoor chores mount up. I will be planting and maintaining a twice-as-large vegetable garden this year and still have three acres to mow every week.
My hope is that at least the gardening will be enough extra activity to counteract the whole maintenance trend that certainly is right around the corner. And maybe, maybe by the end of the summer I'll have lost a few more pounds and gained a bit more energy.
I'm tired of fooling around with this weight issue. I want it to be done, over with, finis, kaput! I've been working on it for almost 50 years. Enough is enough.