On April 7th, after weighing myself, I set a goal. I wanted to lose 6 pounds last week. It would have brought me to an even 50 - and I liked the idea of being able to say I had lost 50 pounds in 7 weeks. It had a nice ring to it. I tried to be good - ignoring the overwhelming desire for a greasy cheeseburger, didn't drink this weekend and tried to keep my butt moving.
I weighed in Wednesday, hoping for that 6 pound loss. It started out at 6, then went to 4, then settled on 5. Five pounds lost. Not 6. I have lost a total of 49 pounds. In 7 weeks. As much as I was disappointed in the fact that I didn't reach my goal, it is really hard to stay sad for very long. I have never lost that amount of weight, in that amount of time. I feel great. I can do things I could not 7 weeks ago. I want to exercise rather than avoiding it, because it was uncomfortable and on occasion painful. I am happy. I am content. I am motivated. One pound is not going to change that.
Not much else going on. Went to the gym for an hour of walking in the pool in my sexy new water shoes. They are ugly as they come, but they keep my feet from getting sliced up - so I will take it!
Short and sweet today. Have a great night, everyone!