The last time I had a bad weigh-in, I was mad. I went on a tirade and complained about a bunch of stuff. I'm not mad this time. I'm disappointed. I'm saddened. I'm ashamed. So many people are supporting and encouraging me ... investing in me ... and I let them down. I know that I didn't cheat on my diet and I exceeded the distance on the running challenge. And yet, despite my efforts the scale didn't tell the story I wanted it to tell.
When I got mad last time, I thought about quitting. That thought hasn't even entered my mind now. I'm just going to go at it harder and with more determination.
My fat better watch out because, unlike the Hulk, it would far prefer me to be angry, because when I'm angry, I'm stupid. My fat is officially on notice ... it will be begging for mercy this week, and I'm going Cobra Kai all over it (original Karate Kid reference). No mercy. I'm going to sweep my own leg.
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