Know how to get grumpy? Spend consecutive weekends in Reno and San Franscisco in the company of lots of people and food, and then go to your Sunday Weight Watchers and discover that you’ve put on nine f*cking pounds.
Nine pounds.
I f*cking hate this crappy pudgy body. You work and work and work and work to lose one pound, and then you just relax for a week, don’t even go too crazy, and you lose three months of hard effort.
Addendum: A new morning dawns. My weight is now reading 6.5 pounds less than yesterday. I walked from the Bart to Pixar. My Toy Story 2 coat that I chose to wear this morning looks like a tent on me.
I’ve got nothing to fret over, so I should stop fretting.
I feel for you. I’ve been attributing a rather substantial weight gain I had recently to bloating from a recent (really nasty) case of poison ivy. But now that that’s subsiding I have to face the scale telling me that, yes, my body fat percentage is up, despite my training for this 30 mile hike I just completed.
Grrr… Back to water for snacks in the afternoon.