Ewe's not fat, ewe's fluffy.
I'm definitely feeling fluffy.
It started in the overindulgence that inevitably comes with the holidays. I think that at some point, I had gotten myself back on track, but in the last month or so, I've gotten way off-track.
My scale's battery had been out for a while, so I wasn't able to monitor myself as I usually do with my weigh-ins that I use to prevent me from going too far off-track.
"Up a pound or two. That could just be from water weight." A few days later it would be down to normal, or it would register firmly two pounds up at which time I would think that it really was time to start watching my diet more closely.
Had my scale been functioning, I would have observed that my weight had indeed crept up a couple of pounds, and then a few more, until I got to that number that we dare not pass. It's different for each person, but it's that number that goes beyond my comfort zone, that signals the full results of my lack of self-control.
This last weekend I spent time with some girlfriends in a little getaway -- an event that would not be the same if we were just snacking on celery -- but I resolved to reign myself in when I returned.
I don't know if my body is finally rebelling to what I've been putting in it (the weight didn't get there from eating too many vegetables -- I've been stuffing myself with junk), or if it's because spring is here (sort of), which will mean less clothes-camouflage?
Whatever the true impetus, I don't just feel fluffy anymore. I feel icky, and I'm hoping that a sensible diet will not only shed those extra pounds, but make me feel better about what I'm putting in my body.
I'm still not going to be donning a teensy weensy bikini any time soon, but it's still the right thing to do.