March 8, 2006
Wednesday 

And here we are again. The view from the plateau hasn’t changed.

I weighed in this morning, on an empty stomach. This was sort of a way to manipulate the results. Tonight at church, before the midweek Lenten worship service and the bible study to follow, there will be a soup and bread supper. (I’m taking the last loaf of the Greek psomi I baked last week.) And tomorrow, which happens to be my birthday, I am going out to lunch with one of my oldest and dearest friends, who is celebrating her birthday as well. And though I don’t plan to go overboard at either event, I just don’t want to go to a weigh-in only three hours after a restaurant meal.

217. Seventh week in a row.

I’m failing better all the time!

On February 1, when I gave this process “Project Status” (a Dr. Phil-ism), I took my measurements and wrote them down on my workout calendar and set my birthday as the first date to assess progress. So, with some reluctance, I got out the tape measure when I returned from the foray to the Weight Watchers office.

I’d measured bust, waist, hips, right arm and left arm at the bicep and right thigh and left thigh at that tender, fleshy spot three or so inches below the hip joint.

And today, though my diligence in working out has been ragged (and nonexistent since last week when I got caught up in another Project Status endeavor, the fiction manuscript for my summer writing conference applications), I saw some results. Not much — an inch here, a half inch there, but a difference, for a total of six inches all around.

Nothing to do now but keep on keepin’ on.

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