I haven’t had much to blog about lately. The subject of my weight seems to be the common thread to my attempted blog posts, and who wants to listen to a menopausal woman whine about her weight. No matter how hard I try to talk about health as opposed to weight it doesn’t work out.
Over the past year I have been attempting weight watchers, tried My Fitness Pal and counting calories, and developed the ability to have an anxiety attack over the mere sight of a pound of butter. The realization, or epiphany if you will, came the other day when I realized I was using the Weight Watchers program, while simultaneously counting calories through My Fitness Pal. After reviewing my progress over the last year, I have managed to gain 10lb. I further realized how nutso I’ve gotten with this whole scerario when we went to a Christmas dinner/dance the other night. I passed on the starter of soup and watched my slim friends at the table enjoy not one, but two bowls each. I then took the smallest piece of lasagna, passed on the potatoes, hyperventilated over the fact that the salad was tossed with oil and vinegar. Then, I nearly passed out when someone offered me the bread basket.
Obviously, what I’m doing isn’t working.