A Thin Line Between Love and Hate

I had my training session with Angela as usual on Wednesday, and it went beautifully, as usual. As I was standing on the scale, she was talking to me and focused on something else, so as the number 178.8 came up, I tapped her excitedly on the shoulder. She stopped mid-sentence, gaped at the screen for a few moments, then laughed and said, "Seriously. What the f***?" I laughed out loud. When she took my body fat measurement and it turned out to have dropped 1.3%, she said, "Okay, I love you and I hate you. As your trainer, I love you. But as a fellow woman, I hate you! How are you doing this?!"

Then, as she took me through a new workout, she said to every other trainer who passed by, "She lost 5 pounds in two weeks, and she has alcohol EVERY DAY!" Great, Angela. Now the whole gym thinks I'm a lush.

To be fair, I haven't been having alcohol every day, and I hardly ever have dessert anymore. And I still don't feel too deprived--I just eat more carefully. My food choices are based first on calorie content, and THEN on what would taste good.

Whatever it is, it seems to be working. I wore some size 10 brown velvet pants yesterday that I bought myself as a treat after having completed Weight Watchers two years ago. I haven't been able to wear them since well before I got pregnant. What's wierd is that, when I finished WW, I was 159 pounds. So I'm almost 20 pounds heavier now, but I can still get into the pants. The only way I can account for it is that I'm working out so hard now, and when I was doing WW, I was only dieting--I wasn't really doing much exercise.

Anyway, to top off the goodness, I took out 3 pieces of the medium veggie pizza when it came last night, put the rest in the fridge, then made myself a big green salad. Much more effective for portion control than going hog-wild in front of an open box and telling myself I'll stop at 3. Yeah right.