Today my office wrapped up a 13-week weight loss challenge. Overall, the team lost 130-some pounds. Like, an entire person. Of course, to celebrate, Qdoba catered lunch in the conference room. Because why not celebrate weight loss with all-you-can-eat Mexican food? It's only natural.
However, the challenge is going to continue. The company encourages exercise, healthy eating, etc., etc. It's really motivated people. Participants weigh in every Tuesday morning. It's like the march of doom into the office that holds the scale.
Today I weighed myself in. (And FYI, the blood-curdling scream you just heard was me, after I dropped dead). I told the coordinator my weight with my eyes squeezed shut. Maybe she won't hear me correctly IF I CAN'T SEE HER.
Before you get all, "OMG, YOU DON'T NEED TO LOSE WEIGHT, QUIT YOUR BITCHING" on me, shut it. I am not in this to win, clearly. I am not in this to drop to 120 pounds (no, I do not weigh 120 pounds, nor will I ever). I saw it as the perfect opportunity to be held accountable for maintaining my weight.
And if I happen to drop a pound or 11, hey, good for me... cough.
I am lacking serious motivation to get on the running bandwagon. I've got a marathon in a few months, and had huge intentions of getting into fantastic shape before the summer ended. Here it is July 22, ho-hum... and I'm a lazy asshole.
If I can convince myself that every time I get on my bike or lace up my running shoes it'll ease that number on the scale a little lower, I'm all over it.
Perhaps it'll also convince me NOT to eat the ginormous chocolate muffin that stared me in the soul this morning. Too late for that one unfortunately...
Bring it on, scale. You filthy whore.