I got on the scale today.  I don’t always do that, as I often go by “feel”.  And sometimes I go by “pants”…as in I put on a pair of pants to see what they feel like.  Parenthetically, my “pants of choice” are a pair of Levis from high school.  Read: pre-spandex, pre-low waist, pre-women’s fashion statement.  I have worn these jeans within the last month.  Double parenthetically…she ain’t wearing them now.

I haven’t seen this weight in a long time.  OK…I was actually a half pound heavier two days ago, lost it over night, and gained most of it back on Thanksgiving (also known as Thanks-Pie-to-Myself-Day).

There were plenty of leftovers. Were.

Since I stopped racing (triathlon, running) my weight has been a couple of pounds heavier than I like; I’ve been looking at 161 for a couple of years.  I like my fighting weight to be 155-157 and I just can’t seem to get stabilized there.  But 168ish…that’s just creeping up the slippery slope for me.

Starting weight.

So I’m throwing it out there.  For all to see.  It’s not quite as bad as taking a photo of my belly that’s poking out over my jeans.  Or the zipper that doesn’t quite make it.  Or the butt that should not be so pressed against tight fabric.  Just the scale.

Holy Cow.  I’ve got my work cut out for me this month.