WHEN BRAGGING IS NOT BRAGGING

Okay, hypothetical situation - I take over the care of, oh, let's say four dogs. A friend was going overseas, couldn't take them or find a good home for them, leaves them in my care.

So that's me taking over care, feeding, exercising and any medical needs for four cold, wet, happy noses, right?

Now makes those dogs all St. Bernard dogs.

Right, just a little more space, food - but nothing all that different.

So why oh why does all the change when they actually are SIX HORSES.

Suddenly, you are envied, you must be rich, when can I come ride, you are so lucky.

When actually it is three times as much hay, three times as much water, more than three times the fighting and potential for loss of limb (me, not the horses, silly!).

But one good thing? I'm losing weight just having to chase after them several times a day.

STEP TWO

I hate the concept of a personal trainer.

I mean, paying someone to remind you of what to do in a gym? Man, I have significant memory loss, and even I can keep track of that.

But in reality, someone that you pay is someone you are more likely to show up for an appointment with - someone that you don't dismiss easily - and someone who keeps you on track.

Luckily, with the renewal of my gym membership, I got three sessions with a personal trainer.

And even more fortunately, that personal trainer is Debbie L., who is an awesome fellow member of my book club.

Okay, so maybe it does help to have a personal trainer - I'm ready to admit Debbie has me pushing a lot deeper than I thought I could go.

 

Now let's see if I can keep doing it on my own as well.

STEP ONE

Today: the first significant item in my assault upon the 18.1436 kg I am carrying around and wish to leave behind.

I made only ONE piece of toast instead of my normal two.

The rest should be a breeze.... right?

A CLEAN SLATE

 

 

ONE STEP AT A TIME

My weight is stubbornly remaining exactly the same.

So I am trying to walk just a little bit further every day.

And although I look somewhat ridiculous, I am trying to ride my bike.

Yeah, I think I do look like that.

THERE ARE THREE KINDS OF LIES

I blame my lack of posts for the past several weeks on the outrageous and flirtatious behavior of my scale.

It is one of those serious, large-digital ones that simply states what your mass at normal Earth gravity is. No ifs, no buts, nothing to misread or not understand (completely random side bar here - have you seen that commercial for a pregnancy test that states 30% of women MISREAD their results? Are there really a third of our gender who are that STUPID? It says you are pregnant or you aren't - how can you misread it?!?!).

But then my scale tries either to tempt me beyond my ability to resist or simply feels I need some additional encouragement.


Monday, it insisted that I had lost eight pounds.


And it insisted this REPEATEDLY - numbers not changing or blinking or even winking at me.


Eight pounds! WOW! This is GREAT.


It lied.


Or I gained eight pounds back in six hours - because six hours later, it went back to clinical detachment and stated, no, it wasn't true, you were right back where you were last week... and the week before.


And it probably doesn't help that this news sent me reeling straight to my hidden chocolate stash.

PUBLIC OPINION OR LACK THEREOF

Just one little follow-up blog following my rather extreme hair-cut:

Almost everyone I know politely ignores it, and says nothing.

And almost every teenager I know immediately says, "Cool, Sister Wiltfong! I LOVE your hair!"