Every holiday season I can recollect has ended with me adding anywhere from five to ten pounds to my frame. This was the first year I actually lost weight, albeit not very much--but that's not the point, or is it? I keep struggling with the innate desire to shed pounds and meet an arbitrary weight goal, but I am honestly a bit ashamed. I tell my wife and friends that I'm not concerned about my final weight; that I'm actually trying to reach a fitness goal--I am, but I can't stop standing on the scale--or being "mental" about what I'm eating...
Today, I weighed in at 180.9 and found that my new pants won't stay up (34 inch waist). My comfort shirt (a brown short sleeve short that I wear untucked) is too baggy. But I'm not happy with the way I look--I feel better, but not great.
I've run just a bit over 13 miles in the past two days at The Alaska Club--feeling a little sore. I need to take a day off, but I really don't want to. The prospect of making big mileage this week is too compelling.
Scott Mayfield called last night. He wants me to join him at the Lake Stevens 70.3 half ironman. Sounds good, but that would end up being my first triathlon. Not sure about the wisdom of taking on that type of event as an introduction to the sport. I think I'll stick with the Xterra Hammerman. Less money, more local, and Simon wants to participate. Win. Win. Win
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