two thirty-one

I was at a home today that had a scale. A real scale. Like the kind in doctor's offices. When the coast was clear, I stepped onto the scale, somewhat apprehensive about what the number would be. Two hundred thirty-one pounds. I was actually afraid it would be higher than that. Last time I weighed myself months and months ago, I was in the mid two-twenties on an inaccurate scale. Two thirty-one is not as scary as I was expecting.

It's not acceptable, obviously, but I'm not plunged down into the pit of despair.

I neglected to mention, Sunday night I also punched the heavy bag two hundred times with each arm (four hundred punches total).

I just got home from riding my bike. The same route from Sunday night. It about killed me. First, my ass hurts from the bike seat. This will eventually stop aching as I continue to abuse my ass with the bike seat. But the ride itself was brutal.

I'll punch the bag later on.

I have a friend (I'm sure you're reading this) who is my accountability person. This person is trying to walk every day. Here's hoping we can keep each other motivated. It's so easy to find reasons not to exercise.

I need to take my body measurements like I did back when I lost all those inches (but not pounds) before my wedding. I'll try to do that tonight before I go to bed.