Bumblebee vs. Universe

I have to admit, I've been feeling pretty good lately. I've been working out a lot and eating well. All of my clothes are noticeably looser on me. Lest I get too comfortable, the universe choose this week to deliver me a quick one-two punch.

Monday was the day my triathlon shorts decided to show up on my doorstep. Any confidence I had prior to that night flew out the window so fast that it's probably halfway to Kuala Lumpur by now, never to be seen again. Before I even put them on I knew I was in for a problem, because they looked quite... small. I double checked the tag, hoping to find that I was sent newborn triathlon shorts by accident, but no such luck.

Let me tell you, those bad boys are so tight that putting them on is like putting on a pair of nylons- pull up a little here, a little there, a little here, until somehow, eventually, you have them on. I was almost afraid that I was going to rip them with all the tugging I was doing, but apparently they're pretty resilient. By far the most horrifying thing about these shorts is that they have a tight elastic at the bottom of the legs, which falls about an inch above my knees. I understand that the elastic is so you don't have to worry about your shorts riding up while you are in the middle of a race, but it is just not an attractive look unless maybe your legs are pure muscle, which mine sure aren't.

These shorts make me look ridiculous, and upon seeing myself in them for the first time I immediately flashed back to the dance recital days of my youth. I loved dance, but never ever ever did I love the flashy spandex outfits that came with the territory. This was due to the fact that I was always the chubbiest girl in the class. But once a year on dance recital nights I had to don a tight little costume and sashay out onto stage with all of the twiggy girls. I survived, but it was traumatizing at the time, and these tri shorts are causing me to relive it in a major way. If I'm ever feeling skinny, I will definitely be sure to check myself by yanking them on. I don't know if they're totally supposed to be this way or if perhaps they're a tad small. But as I'm checking out my lumpy self in the mirror, I'm also refusing to get a larger size, because I am sure that I can make myself fit into them before July.

Or at least, I thought so until the second punch was delivered on Tuesday, when I arrived at my weekly weigh-in to find out that, yet again, the scale had not budged.

Not a single ounce.

TKO.

Universe, 1. Me, nada.

This seems near impossible, because I've been working super hard. I've been pushing myself every day to do my absolute best. I'm not perfect, but I know I've been doing great. I deserve to see a weight loss. And I'm willing to work even harder. But at this point I do not know what else to do. I've eaten noodles made from the root of a vegetable I've never even heard of. They taste like earthworms, in case you're wondering. I've stopped drinking anything except water and coffee (and I've been drinking A LOT of water). I'm exercising at least 5 days a week for at least 45 minutes. I write down everything I put in my mouth and can tell you off hand the points value of nearly anything. Yogurt? 2 points. Banana? 2 points. Apple? 1 point, as long as its 2.5" in diameter or smaller. If not, then 2 points. And yes, I've grabbed a ruler and measured apples to be sure I'm calculating correctly.

I would not be exaggerating if I was to say I almost lost my grip on sanity in the minutes after I stepped off that scale. For a few moments I felt sure the universe really was playing a nasty trick on me (ok, so I kinda still do). I have been working so hard, and I'm freaking exhausted. I even fell asleep in the bath tub the other night. That is a bad, bad thing, especially for someone who lives alone. My cats hate the water and are not CPR-certified. I'd have been screwed if I'd gone under.

Due to all this hard work, I feel like I need to see some downward movement on the scale. It would be my body's way of saying "Great work, my friend. You did good." Instead, it feels like my body is saying "Hahahaha!!! F*%^ you!"

I know that losing weight, or not losing weight, is not the end of the world. I know there's worse things that could happen. I know I don't have a huge amount to lose. But still, I've set a goal for myself, and I'm determined to meet it, so it makes me really cranky when I realize I might not.

After 2 days of struggling to put a positive spin on this, I knew I needed to do something different to kick my ass into gear and get over it. Something I hadn't done yet. So tonight, I did it. I ran on the treadmill! And I did not fall off- I didn't even stumble! While this might not seem like a huge accomplishment, believe me-- it was. I haven't been able to successfully run on the treadmill since...ok, I've never been able to successfully run on the treadmill. Take that, universe--I'm ready for a rematch any day.