After a long weekend away from my kitchen, and one in which I relied on too many Larabars and ate too few vegetables, I have – after eight weeks – gone backwards in the weight-loss mission.
Up half a pound. Half a pound! That's like nothing for someone like me, whose weight fluctuates wildly from morning to night and day to day. I'm not upset or discouraged or dismayed or worried or wondering if I'll ever lose another pound again ever, ever, ever.
I am, in fact, dancing with the one who brought me. The paleo plan has been working remarkably well, and I'm certainly not planning to change partners. Love the one you're with, and all that.
We were super-busy this weekend. Both grandchildren were performing Friday and Saturday nights, and Thursday was dress rehearsal. The performances went off without a hitch and I'm glad I was there to be a part of the excitement.
Meals, however, were catch as catch can, and finding decent paleo fast food is impossible. I'm sure the grilled chicken sandwich I had yesterday (sans bun) was loaded with salt, as was the bag of cashews I picked up at a convenient store when I got gas. I'd hoped to buy a banana there, but there were none to be had.
So much for good intentions. (And poor planning on my part.)
My activity level was a bit on the light side, as well. Three miles Thursday and Friday, a little less Saturday and none yesterday, which is the opposite end of the spectrum from my usual weekend activity.
All in all, though, I'm fine with the uptick. Onward. And downward!