This Old, Busted Ass is HURT.

Boy am I having trouble with this blog tonight. All my pictures are out of order and orientation and everything. Not much of a story this way! I was going to slip this photo in last as a reminder of the moments I miss when I am doing all those extra shifts (see below). Me and Big G snuggling on the couch before I got called back to work last week. The weight loss has been VERY disappointing in the last week, between hormones and lack of sleep, working too much and eating a boatload of crap. I have lots of setbacks and I keep telling myself that I am doing this for my own physical fitness not to be "skinny" so why worry so much? Because. I am a woman, and we worry about things that guys never have to even process.

Seriously. Most guys never have to think, evaluate, and make a decision before they have a bite of something. It's pretty much "Mmm, cookies, om nom nom". In the meantime I am supposed to push a bowl of chips away in favor of greek yogurt. How does that even correlate? So as the family were enjoying molasses cookies the other night, I ultimately ate two after giving myself a complete complex about the consequences in which I now find myself--that of having gained back 3.5 lb which is most likely water. And the ugly truths of how I eat and why, how I don't want that pattern handed down to my three little loves, and how I don't need to be responsible for my DH's own food issues. He has to deal with them himself, but we still have a chance to teach the younguns about fitness, healthy eating and snacking, and why special treats need to stay special (and only occasional).

So the running. I finished Week 2 of C25K and my left knee is screaming, all up behind my patella, and I am thinking that even though I can scarcely call myself a runner I nevertheless find myself suffering from what is likely a case of Runner's Knee. Apparently I have been pushing way too hard after being way too sedentary for pretty much the entirety of my adult life. It has been suggested to me that I try to rest it for a month, which actually might be okay since it's canning season.

I have already started, with the bulk of my recent cucumber crop in yonder jars soaking up the tasty bread and butter juices. I can just about imagine crunching into one of those babies as it nestles atop a freshly grilled cheeseburger...(I have no idea why this photo is sideways, or how to correct the matter, or why these last two paragraphs were suddenly centered instead of left-justified). 




Beautiful, sweetly crunchy tangy pickles. 4-6 weeks until you are all mine.

 

In other news you may not be aware that I have disappeared from the world into the void that is my workplace. I worked 66 hours a week for the last two weeks and on Thursday, it will all be worth it. I made up in two weeks all the cash we were missing in July. And as you might notice in the photo below, I will be making it happen again if the flow of business allows. By the time my kids board the school bus in September I will probably croak from exhaustion. It has been suggested by the people who love me the most in life that I am overdoing things--the job, the exercise, the canning/gardening. I promise we will get to the point where I am feeling more like my Wench self soon. But for now, affairs of state must take precedent over affairs of State (with thanks to Mel Brooks, I have always loved that quote). Ah I see we are back to the left-justified margin. Very interesting indeed. It's almost like I have no control over formatting tonight.

This here is the demon schedule. Only two extra days this week, but check out next week. This is in additon to my regular shifts!