I've been working out consistently since November. (Word to the wise, if you want to keep yourself accountable, buy a dry-erase calendar and write down every time you work out. Then, at the end of each month, record the ratio of days out of the month that you worked out. Keep track of those ratios.)
The husband-to-be and I have been doing that for eight months now, and this month, we amped it up. I've worked out (minimum, hour-long walk) 20 of the 23 days that August has afforded me.
Yet, I step on the scale on Tuesday, and the same number I've seen since JANUARY proves relentless. Clearly, something has to give.
For the next month, I'm going to severely limit my bad carbs in an experiment of sorts to see if that leads to progress. It's not that I think I'm terribly overweight. But, I wasn't 100% happy with how I looked in those 20+ wedding dresses I tried on, and I know I can't blame my displeasure entirely on the dresses.
But, before I take the plunge, I decided a carb-errific trip to the one and only Melt Bar and Grilled was in order. See why?
But the great thing about weight, like so many things in life, is if you don't like it, you can change it. Nothing would tickle me more (yes, I said, tickle) than to go in for my dress fitting a few months before I marry the man of my dreams and hear them say, "Oh geez, girl. We need to take this in a size."
Back to that Purple Parma: Few sacrifices say love like bringing home half your Melt for your better half: