Under Normal Circumstances

I weighed in this morning at 174.0 pounds, down about 1.75 pounds from last Saturday. I am now just 0.25 pounds away from a BMI of 24.9, which is the top end of the normal range. I am (nearly) of normal body weight for the first time since the spring of 2000. Seven years is a long time to be abnormal. I’m glad it’s finally over.

I took a daring challenge this week, and decided to skip the daily weigh-in, along with its associated mid-week Freak Out when I inexplicably (and routinely) gain weight for NO REASON. Figuring that I’d have less gray hair by year’s end, or at least less to keep me at Red Alert on Amy’s Gone Psycho scale, I opted to trust my weight loss program, and know that since I was doing the right thing food-wise, I would lose weight.

That’s tricky stuff, since I was PMSing this week, and the hormones were In Charge this time. Someone at work sent around an e-mail noting there were donuts in the break room, and I had to get up and walk around the building to keep myself from firing back a nasty-gram about the horrors of ‘people like you’ who exist only to sabotage the efforts of those of us suffering in a No Carb Zone.

Period arrived on Friday. Normal is near, hormonally as well now: thank all the heavens for that. And my apologies to Howard, who appears to have survived the ordeal, but who endured more than the usual number of estrogen-enhanced sucker-punches. Good thing he’s slimming down; he’s a much smaller target now, and he runs faster than he used to.

I continued my ‘I Dress Better ‘N You’ mode all week, stopping only on Wednesday for a break, when I developed blisters on both feet and my right knee swelled up from all the hall-clacking I did in my new 4” black pumps with the little twisty-action at the toe. They are super-sharp, but they exact a toll for the wearing. It’s nearly 10pm on Saturday night, and my back is still aching. I really do need to get some of those faux loafers that have the casual-esque shoe look but with a tall heel. The stack heel is thicker than the pump heel, and so I have to believe that they’d be easier on my feet. I wore my rubber-soled, “sensible” shoes on Wednesday, and I actually scuffed my heels as I walked, just to make some noise.

I also spent a ridiculous amount of time in restaurants this week, a terrifying prospect, considering that I was not monitoring my daily weight. I carved up a grilled shrimp entrée so badly at the Wyndham Garden in Lisle that I’m pretty sure they’ll never seat me there again. My lunch mate, an otherwise easy-going and lovable, supportive friend, actually kicked me after the waitress left. “Geez, Amy,” she said as she ground her (pump!) heel into my shin. “Why didn’t you just bring your own lunch and cook it here? It would have been quicker.”

I happen to have no idea how to grill shrimp. I only know how to ruin an otherwise delightful recipe until I’m guaranteed that my meal’s only ‘garnish’ will be a ‘sneezer’.

My exercise program remains non-existent, unless you count the clacking-down-the-hall trips I make every hour or so to refill my coffee mug and curse the hounds who are bringing in their Valentine’s Day chocolates a whole month early. Man, isn’t the business world hard enough?

Today I saw an ad for Easter candy. Pretty soon we’ll have aisles full of “seasonal” food that’s available year-round. You can have frosted Christmas trees in June or marshmallow peeps at your Labor Day barbecue if the mood strikes. This is why I never venture into the processed-food jungles of agrocery store’s inner aisles. I keep to the perimeter, wearing sensible shoes in case I have to run away from some white-smocked, white-haired lady accosting me with meat dangling from a toothpick. I always bring DS, who hates to food shop, and so screams through the whole ordeal, and I always have Howard running hither and yon, catching things I’ve missed or forgotten, so I never have to backtrack and risk DS spotting the chocolate aisle.

Sounds pretty normal. In 0.25 pounds, I’ll let you know.

A the B(MI 25.0)