Weigh-in day. Scared and excited. The result?
That's right, folks - I have lost a total of esaaaaaaaactly 20 pounds in 11 weeks. While I would love to turn out Biggest Loser-esque numbers, I'm losing at a rate that averages 1.8 pounds per week. Pretty damn good, in my opinion.
And I guarantee I've actually lost more fat than that, because I know I've built muscle. I haven't felt this physcially strong in ... well ... ever.
I'm four pounds away from my first 10 percent. When I hit 216, I get a pedicure. Good thing that didn't happen this week, because I can't afford it right now. But in a couple of weeks? Sign me up.
Anyhoo, it hasn't been easy. Taking on this weightloss challenge while also taking up running is probably the single most daring thing I have done in my adult life. Except maybe getting married, and I am pretty sure the weightloss thing is gonna have a better result than the marriage.
I ran last night, with my friend Linda. We completed a neighborhood 5k. It hurt.
Moving 220 pounds through the world is not easy. By mile two, my hips were killing me. My breathing was labored. My brain wanted to shut off. But I kept going. I felt kinda bad, because Linda is capable of running faster and longer than I am, but she's also a generous soul, and she kept my pace, and walked with me when I needed to. It mattered a great deal, and we made it. 3.14 miles in 51 minutes. Yeah, I rock a 17-minute mile.
So that's it for running, until the race on Saturday. Tonight it's salsa/funk with MaryAnn, and tomorrow is a night off, as I'll be heading into the city to stay with Diane prior to race day. I'm nervous and excited. And at the moment, still sore.