Hello, you little dickens.

It’s two weeks post breakdown and I have to say I’m recovering nicely. I haven’t been militant with myself for several days. This is very important, I believe. I think there’s such a thing as weight loss burnout and it’s brought on by being consumed with the issue every minute or every day. I’ve also kept my promise to not rekindle my dysfunctional romance with the scale. The scale tried luring me to its lair the other day. I imagined looking at it and seeing that I had gained, then I walked away. The feelings that experience produce do not enhance or improve my life, nor do they motivate me to work harder. Quite the contrary actually. I’m likely to think, “Well crap, a week of busting my balls and no change? Let’s snack til midnight, yo.”

I did get brave enough to try on the next smallest size of jeans I have hanging in my bedroom. They hang prominently outside the closet door, staring at me, flirting with me, daring me to enter them. So, I did. Could’ve used lube. I’m not saying they were tight, but my muffin top went full-blown souffle in those babies. However, I was able to pull them all the way up which is an improvement from a month ago.

The gym and I are still dating regularly and getting downright hot and heavy together. Not knowing what is a typical amount of weight to push, I just do what challenges me haaaard. On the back extension, I do 205 and on both crotch flashers, I do 190. I think those are the ones I kick the most ass on. The shoulder press, on the other hand, laughs at me hard right in the face! It’s also called the military press which makes sense as I imagine it yelling at me, “You maggot! Push harder! You call those muscles? I’ve seen bigger muscles on your Nana!”

Anyhoo, that’s the gist of what’s going on in Losing Loriville this week. Hope all’s ducky and silly with you.

Love,

Lori

P.S. I’m headlining Calgary Yuk Yuks June 13-15 if you have a hankering to be dorky with me. 403-258-2028.