Don't underestimate it - the weight of a good shit.
As I've touched briefly on before, I've become a bit obsessed with weighing myself. Mostly, it's just the torture of it all that I must somehow feel I deserve...but there's really still a hopeful piece of me that wants to see that I've magically dropped 7 lbs overnight, too.
Not friggin' likely.
The diet and exercise plan is running beautifully. Monday and Wednesday's personal training sessions went incredibly. I continue to eat a high protein, low carb diet - and my carbs are coming entirely from green vegetables and the occasional little piece of fruit. I've had no red meat this week for protein - only chicken, turkey, tuna, lots of cottage cheese, and a ton of protein powder. I've had no starches whatsoever - no bread, no rice, no pasta, no potatoes, no crackers. I haven't cheated yet this week (cuz I've been saving it up for tomorrow night!!!!). I feel great. Except that I still haven't really lost any weight.
Why are we so obsessed with seeing the numbers? If I didn't have a scale right now, I would swear that I'd lost about 10 lbs already. That's how my body feels. My muscles feel hard and tight. And I look different, too; the body is changing. But, I went into this with a weight loss goal in mind and now I'm having trouble letting that go.
This morning, as always, before getting dressed, but after peeing, I stood on the scale. 139.7
I rolled my eyes and went on with my morning. Got dressed, put the coffee on and then returned to the bathroom for a morning release.
Just totally out of curiosity (and, okay...a bit of obsession), I stood on the scale again.
137.4 - and that's with clothes.
Now, if I can only perfect the master dump a couple of times a day, I'll be set.