I used to swim…a lot. I wound up with a messed up shoulder, took a year off, went back to it only to discover that even after PT it was not healed enough, took another year off, and it still wasn’t cooperating. So I started riding my bike.
I’d like to be outside riding right now. Instead, I’m looking out the window watching it rain, as it has been for a couple of days and how it will be for several more, and I’m grumbling like an eight year old who’s been grounded from playing with her friends.
If the rain keeps up, I might as well give swimming a try again, and I won’t even need to go to the pool.
My road bike has been rescued from the shed and brought inside, and it’s up on a trainer. The treadmill is ready to go. Tonight I’ll probably at least get on the bike to get some miles in, and either read or watch something on Netflix while I pedal. It’ll do, but it’s not as fun as an actual ride.
I’m still stuck in a plateau, my weight is not budging. It’s not a big deal (other than my ego) and I know eventually I’ll start to lose again, but I had this mental image of the weight I would be at when I participate in the St. Baldrick’s head shave, and I’m 12 pounds from that. If my weight had come off as projected (bite me, MFP) I’d be under that weight by then.
I’m not losing 12 pounds in under two weeks, so I’ll be doing it as a flabby mess again.
Next year, then.
But, yeah, I’m ready for the rain to stop for a few weeks.