If you're just joining us here, the Shrinking Knitter has been keeping a precise count of calories in/calories out for the past two weeks. After week one, she experienced a net weight gain of two pounds. It's now the end of week two, and one of those pounds has vanished!
Can you believe it? Me, neither. Heh. Here's the breakdown:
Week One: 1258 calories eaten, 438 calories burned, 48 minutes daily activity
Week Two: 1245 calories eaten, 449 calories burned, 51 minutes daily activity
I'm going to micromanage this for one more week, so I'll have three weeks of data to present to the doctor.
It's not worth it, y'all. If I have to work this hard to lose half a pound a week, I might as well go have a hot fudge sundae and say the hell with it.
After I run, of course. I crack myself up.
This is a cutback week in my training program, but I think instead of today's scheduled "easy" three miles I'll just head out the front door and do the 6.6- or 7.3- or whatever-it-is-loop again. I've got the Shuffle culled down to 90 minutes of tunes with a true running tempo. Maybe that'll help me get all the way up the hills.
Here's something you probably don't know about me [this has nothing to do with weight loss]. The plane Steve Fossett was flying when he disappeared Monday is a souped-up version of the one I got my pilot's license in. Yes, I'm a licensed private pilot, single-engine, land, but not current [meaning I would not be permitted to take a passenger up with me, since it's been so long since I've had a flight physical or check ride].
I was 29 or 30 when I started taking flying lessons in my dad's Bellanca Citabria ["airbatic" spelled backwards, which means the plane was designed to do loops and rolls and spins, oh my!]. Fossett's Bellanca Decathlon is the Citabria's big brother, with a more powerful engine and an inverted fuel system, so it can actually fly upside-down. The Citabria couldn't do that for more than a few seconds before the engine would quit.
We called the plane the "City Brat." Here's what it looked like:
Dad sold the plane when he moved to Florida 11 years ago; I moved to West Virginia shortly after that, and I haven't been pilot in command since. It makes me kind of nervous to fly commercial because I like to see what's going on out the front window, not the side! I guess the flying chapter of my life is over, but it makes for nice memories.
P.S. I forgot to tell Wendy that no, I don't count out 48 pretzel sticks for a serving, but I do weigh them in a container on my food scale. Aren't I a good little weight watcher?