This week sucked. Not going to lie.
Despite having all of you tweet me or text me or call me to encourage me to get up off the couch and drink more water, it got away from me.
And before I realized it, it’s Sunday and I’m weighing in and seeing I gained. Three freaking pounds.
My luck has run out, as far as weight loss goes. I can’t shimmy along and not put any work in and expect results.
So I’m picking myself up, dusting myself off and starting all over again. I’m cleaning all the junk out of or cabinets. I’m getting everyone in my house to quit smoking. I’m banning soda altogether because it’s just too easy when some people in my house are drinking a liter a day. (not me)
And I’m moving my butt. The couch is not my friend.
Bruises in the Frosting 
Jul 26, 2011 @ 09:24:18
Given the stress that you have been enduring the last several weeks, three pounds seems like a remarkable accomplishment! You’ve been fighting a whole host of nasty biological reactions that your body is naturally going to produce to help keep you alive. Hormones and chemicals can’t differentiate between family drama or a natural disaster (frankly, neither can I at this point… WTF).
I give you a standing ovation (YAY! *clap clap clap*) for taking responsibility in this unfortunate situation, recognizing that choices are choices regardless of what life throws at you, and choosing health over self-pity. You have been an inspiration to me since we first met; you skated so hard at practice that you threw up in the trash can, kept going, and SMILED AFTER YOU FINISHED.
So the hurl has hit the can. Hit the floor for a few more laps. This time, though, please rinse out your mouth before you flash that gorgeous smile. Chunks are unbecoming. I don’t care how inspirational you are. I love you, doll.