The gracious comments of family and friends to my initial nine-pound weight loss requires that I share a teeny-weeny detail with you. While it's true I lost nine pounds in two weeks it's equally true that following the Portland Marathon I managed to pack on sixteen pounds in one month. Impossible you say? Perhaps for an amateur such as yourself but not for a professional Phatgirl! All it required was consuming the same quantity of food while mending motionless from my injury that I was consuming when logging 20-25 miles a week during training. Here's an equation that will help you avoid the same mistake. I'll wait while you grab a pen and paper. Ready? Okay, it goes something like this:
+ No Calories Out
There you go. Don't ever say I never did anything for you. Anyway, the plan as it stands now is to dump the remaining seven pounds as soon as is feasibly possible so I can move on to tackling the original forty pounds. Forty pounds. That translates as a four year old child. In other words, I'm carrying around a preschooler. Let's call her Edith, shall we? Even as I blog, I see a radical new weight loss book in my future. Know your fat. Love your fat. Name your fat. Someone call Random House so they can get the presses rolling!