The strangest thing has happened. I can't bring myself to step on the scale. Me, the 3-time a day'er. I haven't been on a scale since Saturday. I know it's because I'm afraid to see the 160's still. I was so excited to see that 159 and the (oh god, how cheesy) the promise it held of less scale-anxiety and eventually cuter clothes and a re-discovered collar bone. Sigh.
When I stepped on it on Saturday morning and saw 160 again, I think some small happy dieter inside me checked out. I wasn't *bad* this weekend, per se, but I didn't go out of my way to be good, either. My family was in town and I cooked my first Channukah dinner, complete with massive hunk of red meat, cooked in onions, garlic and oil for six and half hours and served with an entire bag of potatoes and two bags of carrots. Granted, it's not like I ate the entire piece of meat or the whole bag of potatoes, but I feel like I did.
I am going to make myself step on it tomorrow; I find that I am obsessing about it more now that I can't bring myself to get on. If I see 161 or 162 tomorrow, it will break a piece of my heart, but at least I will know what I'm working with and hopefully that will get me back on track.
Wish me luck.