I weigh 199.5 pounds.
That’s a pound and a half MORE than I weighed last Sunday NIGHT when I weighed myself for McFatty Monday. But two pounds LESS than I weighed on Tuesday when I did my fitness evaluation at the gym.
In short, I hate not seeing a downward shift on the scales.
And not a single one of you better even think to tell me “But, but, Miranda! Muscle weighs more than fat!!” because that’s IMPOSSIBLE according to the laws of Physics and other sciences that are above my pay-grade.
(Think about that for a second–if you have a pound of feathers and a pound of lead, you have a POUND of both of them. They do not weigh differently if you’re talking about exactly a pound. What you’re talking about is density and volume–muscle is more lean than fat and less…uh…fatty, and therefore smaller. So two people can weigh the same and one will be more toned and muscular than the other and the other will just be all globular. Like me.)
I am apparently gaining weight. Probably because working out makes me eat like a horse. And I had a milkshake last night to soothe my soul over the lack of available rainboots at Target.
Yes, I said working out. I went three times last week.
(Alison says that Saturday, in all of its Mega-Fail Glory counts. So I’m counting it.)
And I went yesterday. I could’ve stayed all warm in the bed and snuggled up with my book, but I got off my lazy assets and went to the gym. And I felt good!
And I’m proud of me for going.
The plan this week? Not eat so freaking much food.