My weekly average weight loss seems to have been reigned in a bit. I’m down from dropping about two pounds every seven days to a pound, which is fine. It corresponds with the fact that I’m no longer so arduously attempting to keep my calories below 2,000 per day and that’s attributable to my recent gotta-have-it craving for peanut butter. But at least it’s reduced-fat peanut butter — a sammich a day, baby!
So now I’m up in the 2,200-2,300 per-day range and it’s all good; a step on the scale yesterday revealed I’ve finally taken a step down to 218 pounds from the 220 perch I’ve been hanging out at for the last two weeks.
And it won’t be but a couple more until I’m down to my second-stage goal of 215, right around my birthday when I’ll be up in Death Valley this Memorial Day Weekend with Susan and our friend Rachel and all the more appreciative of the 45 pounds I won’t be carrying to the top of the 11,049-foot Telescope Peak.
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