I was unmotivated.
I was tired of logging.
I was tired of counting calories.
I was tired of feeling deprived.
So I ate more calories, just trying to make healthy choices as I did, not always succeeding.
Right now I'm struggling with finding that magical balance between eating healthy and enjoying life. Between what number on the scale will satisfy me and how much more time I need to spend obsessing over every bite and logging every calorie. At what point is it enough?
I quit going to the gym and went back to real basics where exercise is concerned - strength training at home with exercises using body weight (planks, bridges, push-ups) and free weights. When I started I could barely do a single "girl" push-up (on your knees). I can now do 8 or 9 in a row, with about 5 of those being in good form. Ultimately, I want to be able to do real push-ups - from the toes - and be able to do 15 or 20 in form.
Here's the outcome of a month totally lacking in mojo:
My weight is exactly where it was a month ago. But I have to be honest and tell you that in the past month I've only seen the down side of 170 on three or four occasions, most of them fairly recently.
Yesterday I actually saw 169. But today no amount of leg shaving, nail clipping, or foot buffing was going to budge the scale. Oh well, the ritual is a good excuse for a little personal pampering, right?
I realize this means my goal of 165 by my birthday is simple not going to happen. Short of a miracle or radical surgery, neither of which I'm counting on. But I'm okay with it. And still learning to love me.
