239 -- poo. For those scoring at home, I gained 4 pounds this week.
Excuses? I have a few -- PMS, stupid right leg ... actually, that's it. Enough inactivity, bloating and food journal slippage to make the scale bounce up.
But it doesn't feel like "real weight" if that makes any sense. I've been taking NSAIDs twice a day for the past couple weeks and those can increase water retention, plus the PMS and the extra carbs I wasn't writing down, and I have the perfect storm of bloaty weight.
It's coming off this week, I know it.
So why the picture of Sally O'Malley? I have adopted her as my new patron saint. I decided to do that on the drive home from the doctor this morning. (Turns out you're supposed to get checked out after heat exhaustion, which was last week's fun.) My regular doc was busy so I saw another internist, and when I saw the Nike Fuelband on his wrist, I knew I could discuss my exercise frustrations.
Like the previous doctor, I got the "perhaps running isn't the best thing for you now" speech, so I think strength training and yoga will be my go-to workouts.
So now, on top of the routine blood work I was supposed to do a couple months ago, I get to have an EKG and a stress-echocardiogram. I had one around nine years ago, after a friend had a heart attack, and I passed with flying colors. I'm not concerned about this time either.
What would Sally O'Malley do? She'd kick! stretch and kick! She'd stop whining about her aches and pains and she'd kick some butt. She'd find a way to get active every day and, yeah, like me, she'd try and hold her own among the "youngsters."
Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to kick my own butt.