Paying the Price

Standard

I’m not saying I’ve developed regret over Tuesday night’s pizza and cocktail indulgence, but it has slowed my progress and set me back a touch. It added two pounds and I’m still recovering from the salt and alcohol. I was very careful yesterday and only lost a tenth of a pound. So maybe a smidge of regret. Maybe.

Yesterday was grocery shopping, a dreaded chore. I need to be able to count the miles of walking (two laps around a warehouse store, three around the huge discount grocery store and two around my local Safeway) as my workout, since I was so busy with that and the Girl Scout event we attended that there was no time for the elliptical.

Okay, more like no energy, but still. I walked MILES through those stinking stores. Which makes me think I should break down and buy a pedometer.

Fruit and veggies are re-stocked; bad, tempting things avoided; a few new breakfast items are in the chute; healthy lunches are in place. Hummus and bean-corn salsa for all!

Side note: I stopped at Subway for lunch, a Veggie Delight on flatbread. (Which, by the way, is actually more calories and fat than their plain white bread. Doh!) While there, I noticed something. I don’t know if it was that particular location (a trendy part of Folsom part of Folsom that considers itself hip) or the time of day (12:15), but Subway appears to be the official restaurant of not only athletes, but douchebags. SO MANY DOUCHY DUDES! Seriously, every flavor: corporate drone douche, “exploring his options” (read: out of work) douche, gym rat douche and my special favorite, doctor douche. Oye. I left there considerably fresher than when I came in. Summers Eve fresh. My sandwich even had a disturbing floral aroma. Thank goodness it wasn’t soggy.

 

 

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