|I'm picturing Ryan Gosling saying this to me.|
It's week two weigh-in day, and as I painstakingly lowered myself onto my scale inch by inch while holding myself up by my shower curtain rod hoping that would magically make me weigh less my hopes were high. I though, "Ooooh, I wonder where I'm at. Maybe two pounds?!?" But then my hopes were dashed to the ground by one pound. But one pound in the WRONG direction! That's right. I gained that damn pound back that I worked so hard to lose last week. I ran to my tape measure and quickly measured, and then REmeasured. Nada. Nothing. Not a pound, not an inch. Sob.
I've been a good little Kendra-ite. I exercised six times last week, and on my "rest" day, I took the monsters sledding, which is practically an aerobic workout with Jillian Michaels. I ate fairly well, although yesterday's Packer game smorgasbord did have me eating a few too many snacks, but nothing outrageous.
My super awesome online friends boosted me up telling me that it's the second week plateau like on The Biggest Loser, that my body is building muscle, I'm retaining water to repair the muscle that I'm brutalizing every day...yada, yada, yada. God, I love those women!
Then, the day continued to get worse. On my way to the grocery store, I was attempting to drink my frozen Diet Coke (I had forgot the Coke in the trunk of my van the night prior). I says to myself, "Self, you know what would thaw this Diet Coke right away? Put it between your thighs. Nice and warm there!" So I listen to myself (big mistake), and as my Diet Coke begins to thaw, it overflows soaking my ass and thighs in Diet Coke. Sigh. As I'm walking through Woodmans with people silently judging me and my wet crotch and butt region, I decide to stop being sad and start being awesome.
This second week plateau can kiss my ass. Now, I'm going to put my crabby baby down for a nap, feed the pre-schooler, and lace up my running shoes.
How's week two treating you? Are you up? Down? All around?