Weigh Ins and Mondays

Broke down and hopped on the scale today. Well, "hopped" is the wrong word here. If I step gently onto the scale while leaning 20% of my weight on my hand on the bathroom counter, and then slooooowly remove my hand, the scale doesn't read as heavy. I like to think of it as the scale's way of saying, "Thank you for not slamming your heavy butt onto me all at once!"

Today's result:

November 2, 2009: 181 pounds



[GASP]

Three years ago, I weighed 150 and was quite happy at that weight. It meant a size 8/10, my smallest EVER! A couple of injuries - plantar fasciitis and the aforementioned broken toe - slowed me down and, apparently, dragged me against my will to every drive-thru in the midwest. And here I am, thirty pounds later.

Thirty pounds. 30 lbs!! I knew it but what a downer to see it. Add to the fun the fact that I tweaked my back yesterday lifting an 18-month-old (who didn't want to be lifted - how do they all learn that go-limp move?) while in my gorgeous new platforms. So no running for me today.

Countdown to half marathon: 5 days. I'll be lining up in the back as the token chub. This time around, I'm running just to finish since late summer/early fall have been one injury issue after another. Before this back tweak, I rolled my ankle at a local FUN RUN, for crying out loud, resulting in a grade 3 high ankle sprain. For those of you unfamiliar with this diagnosis, it means "SUCKS TO BE YOU" because you have at least partially torn a ligament.

Now I run with this:



...which just adds to my "what is she doing here with the real runners?" mystique.