Missing The Mark

This last week was, I thought, pretty good as far as meeting my goals.  I ate well, went to the pool for some exercise, made it to my weekly meeting with the ladies.  So you can imagine my surprise when I completely missed the mark on my last goal.

My goals for last week:

  1. No simple carbs.  No bread, pasta, potatoes or rice.
  2. No added sugars in anything.  (Fruit is okay)
  3. Go pool-walking at least 3 times.
  4. Lose two pounds.

No carbs?  Check.

No sugar?  Check

Pool walking?  Check

Lose two pounds.  Ummm…

Well, that didn’t go as planned.  In fact, I gained five pounds.  Five fucking pounds.  How is this even possible considering all the work I did throughout the week?

So, what’s a dedicated, determined girl to do when she doesn’t meet every single last goal she’s set for herself?  Why, cry of course.  In front of people, no less.

*sigh*

I’m not big on crying; especially in front of other people.  That’s besides the point, though….

I realize what I should do (in lieu of being a damned whiner) is suck it up, retrace my steps and keep on keeping on.  I have to take the advice and words of wisdom from the other ladies in group and remind myself that I DID meet all of my other goals.  I AM doing what I’m supposed to be doing to get healthy.  The scales are not the whole story of me.  And add a sprinkling of my own advice: Don’t self-sabotage.

So here I am, setting out on another week of goal-getting and keeping my fingers crossed that it’s not all for naught.  I changed it up a bit this week:

  1.  Go to the gym three times before next meeting.
  2.  Go pool-walking three times before next meeting.
  3.  No carbs/sugar.
  4.  Avoid fruit for two days to see if it’s affecting my BS.

As you might be able to tell I took those mean, condescending, hurtful scales out of the picture for the week.

My week is off to a rough start, but I’m dedicated.  So my little slip-up from this morning  (yes, I already had one… self-sabotage) isn’t going to define or dictate the rest of my week.

Fingers crossed.

 

 

 

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What illness taught me about how truly warped we all are

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