Nothing says, "Why yes! I am paying to be in Weight Watchers," like a grocery cart with chocolate milk and frozen pizza.
Aaaaaahhhhh! Yes, Weight Watchers. I've said for a while now that I've not only fallen off the wagon, I've been run over by it. Now, I feel like I need to make a slight addendum to the statement. Not only was I run over by the Weight Watchers wagon, but I'm a mangled, mutilated, bloody pulp of my former self ... with bits and pieces scattered about the rutted road.
Yeah ... that bad.
So, this week, I declared the WALKER GIRL week. Come hell or high water, I was going to walk every, single night this week ... get moving and drop a pound or two.
And then came the monsoons ... or Remnants of Hurricane Lee ... or the next thing in a long line of things to spoil my attempts to be fit. It's as if the cosmos WANTS me fat and lumpy and covered in cellulite!
The plan tonight is to THINK of alternatives to getting some more aerobic exercise. That has to be good for a calorie or two, right?