My husband and I went on a spur-of-the-moment trip to New Orleans this weekend. I know, I know – I was just there about a month ago. That was without my husband, though, and we’d been talking about a weekend trip there for quite some time. Spontaneity won out over careful planning, and on Tuesday we booked a trip that began on Friday.
And it was great! We listened to a lot of fabulous live music and ate a lot of great food. It was nice to have a relaxing, no-worries trip.
But now I’m back. And I’m worried.
I got on the scale this morning to see what kind of damage I did over the long weekend, expecting to see a slight gain.
I was up ten pounds though. Ten pounds! TEN!
I was NOT ready for that.
It’s my own damn fault. I definitely threw everything out the window while we were away. I don’t know what happened to me! I went into complete vacation mode and ignored the little voice inside of me telling me not to eat certain things – or that I’d had enough of them. I ate and ate and ate. And I drank far more than usual, too.
I didn’t work out much, either. There was a lot of walking, but it was a slow, ambling pace more conducive to people-watching and checking out the shops than burning calories. On Sunday, I attempted to take advantage of the hotel fitness room, but after five minutes on the rowing machine, five minutes on the stair climber and a few (annoying) minutes on the treadmill (whose incline wouldn’t go increase past 0.0), I ended my workout and went back to the room.
I really enjoyed my vacation. But now I’m feeling incredibly remorseful about it. Ten pounds?! I didn’t even think it was possible to gain that much weight in three days!
*sigh*
Ok. I’ve ranted. It’s over. There’s nothing I can do to change what’s already happened. I’ll learn from it, do better next time, and re-lose those 10 pounds as quickly as possible.
Think I can lose 10 pounds in three days, too?
Just kidding. But man have I got a lot of work to do…
