The menu says: restart, shut down, sleep mode

Man, I've had a hard time writing this update. Another frustrating trip to the scale and one shitty week really didn't motivate me to blab on here.

It started on Tuesday when some broad in the change room at the Y asked me "how far along" I was. I honestly could have ripped her beating heart out of her chest and shown it to her. Instead, I just said "34 years, thanks for asking". The kicker came when SHE looked at ME as if I had pinched a steamin' loaf in her purse.

It's not the first time some ignorant/rude/ridiculous asshole has asked me that, but this time it did more damage than I wanted to admit. I'm working hard at this, and until then I had been feeling pretty alright about everything, except for a few low points. But not this time. It totally knocked me for six.

The rest of the week was busy, stressful, and frustrating. I didn't get to the gym as much as I wanted to, but I still stayed on plan, tracked and walked to and from work. Then I stepped on the scale and it barely moved.

Everybody now: it's a loss, not a gain...

I'm frustrated. I know it's not a race, but I'm not where I want to be 36 weeks into it. I want to be further ahead, I want that total lbs lost number to be higher. I want this fat fucking off of me.

I wish food was something I could just turn my back on. Like cigarettes or booze or anything else I don't consume anymore. I wish it was something I could walk away from and just go forward in my life. Fix what's broken and move on.

But I can't. I'm locked in a fight with the very thing that keeps me alive.

I am overwhelmed. I'm stressed. I'm annoyed. I'm cranky. I'm tired.

I need to reinstate my War Measures Act. I need to remember what it felt like to be a one woman army. I need to pull the pin and hope for the best.

We'll see what a week in the trenches brings.

xo
lb