I have a problem: my pants don't fit. (insert angry eyes here) Not that it's necessarily a big deal to move from a size 4 to a size 6. [Or? In Banana Republic sizes ... I'm still a 2. That makes me feel a little better.]
And I thought, well what the hell ... the jeans must have shrunk in the wash or something. Never mind the fact that I've washed them about a hundred times and denim doesn't exactly shrink.
So I stepped on the scale.
Wait ... WHAT?!
When the hell did I put on 10 pounds? Especially since I've been running for what, a month? And my stamina has been increasing over that time?
Awesome. I'm the one girl whose ass gets larger with cardio.
But, in all fairness ... I did in fact eat this for dinner the other night:
Hey, you know something? If it means I can liberally apply butter to my lobster tail and have dessert after? I think I'm okay wearing a larger pant size. Cutting calories is crap. I'll run longer tomorrow.
My bathroom scale can die. Psh. 127 pounds .... That's only 3 pounds away from the heaviest I've ever been in my life, and at 5'3''? A little extra weight is totally noticeable.