*whistling somewhat innocently*

This past month has been rough for me weight loss wise. I've really been bumping up my activity level and pushing myself well passed my comfort zone. My work outs are living in the land of 'uncomfortable'. My eating where I normally have this sort of flexiablity, has been more rigid at times than my lifestyle would ever call for. Goals! I has them.

Because I have an addictive kind of personality (who, me?), I step on the scale everyday. I need to see what is working, and what I need to tweak. Yesterday, I was pleased to see that I was down. I watched my eating, drank my water, did an hour with Jillian complete with weights this time.

As if it was christmas morning, my eyes popped open at the ungodly hour of 6am. Which I normally only see if there are little people jumping up and down on me, demanding the morning sacrafice of waffles and pancakes. None the less. I made my morning pit stop, tore off my clothes as if they were on fire, and jumped on the scale. Wanting to see a certain number pop up at me at long last.

And........ *drum roll*

I was 1.1 pounds... UP.

I blinked a long moment, hoping off the scale. There is no way that was possible. I eased myself on it again, and one second later the same number flashed at me in alarm. It didn't even give it any time to register like it normally does. So, being the logical person I am, I moved it. And...... still no change. Hey. you can't blame a girl for trying.

I considered threatening to take it right to the trash can and dump it as hard as I could inside the vast darkness of the trash bin. But, that would have been counter productive, and it would have woken my little jabberwalkies sooner than I intended. Likely, my feet did a small stomp on the wooden floor as I trudged back to the living room. Knowing that there was no way possible I gained 1.1 in ONE day, especially not eating what I ate, drinking my water, and exercising to Jillian.

The thought in my mind to go to the track early was banished just as quick. I realized I was not feeling well. Kind of dizzy, light headed, and a little feverish. My Rx for myself was naptime. I crawled back into bed with the covers under my chin, inwardly muttering obscenities.

When I woke up hours later on the insistance of said jabberwalkies, I did my thing. My inner drive was telling me to hop on again. So I did.

I was....
1.6 down.

That breath I had not realized I had been holding slowly slipped from my lips, and I put my head against the kitchen island.

Costly lesson.

Sometimes you really do just need a little bit more sleep.