Leveling Off

So I didn't lose any weight this week, which frustrates me like a summamabitch.

After all, I've temporarily embraced the sober lifestyle, so where's the instant gratification? I worked out 5 days this week, ate reasonably well and resisted temptation, and yet I was greeted by a big, fat 236.0 yesterday morning.

What makes this all the more frustrating is the fact that the last time I lost a significant amount of weight, I drank pretty much the entire time. I cut out the heavy stuff like Belgian beers and strong microbrews and skipped a lot of Friday happy hours, but you best believe I filled my cup with some potent vodka cocktails every Saturday.

Could it be possible that drinking helped me lose weight last year? Should I make a beeline for the ABC Sto' and get my Goose on? While that would be the most practical solution, I suppose I'll borrow a page from Obama's playbook and go "line by line" through my food budget and workout program and pledge to cut out some delicious, fatty pork. I guess I could also go and get my bike fixed, seeing that cycling helped me drop tonnage more than anything I did last year. Behold, my amazing powers of deduction!

So after the scale dropped that bombshell on me, Michelle and I went to Charlottesville for the day to walk around downtown, check out Monticello- or as I call it "home of the original baby daddy", and have dinner with her friend Elizabeth. We ducked into a bar when we first got to town to watch game 2 of the Rangers/Capitals series, which turned out to be a bad decision. The Capitals, despite the strong goaltending effort put forth by 20 year old rookie phenom Simeon "The Iron Curtain" Varlamov, lost to the Rags 1-0, putting them in a 2-0 hole in the series heading to New York for game 3. Not looking good, gentlemen. Not looking good at all. Just what is "Let's Go Goats" supposed to do all summer? Just what the heck is he supposed to do???

To make matters worse, I was tempted to order a beer more than any point during my challenge. I'm not sure if it was the 70 degree weather, the frustration of watching shot after shot richochet off of "King Henrik" Lundqvist's gargantuan pads, the stress of my epic "fail on the scale", the sight of Michelle enjoying her Sam Adams Summer Ale, or the fact that there was a little blue Chimay bottle amongst the choices atop the bar whispering "drink me". It was probably a combination of all 3. Whatever the reason, it was the urge I thought I would experience a lot more this month, telling me to give in.

Luckily, as quickly as it came, my urge to wet the whistle sailed away through the open door as I sipped my ginger ale.

The rest of the trip was great- we got to see TJ's freeky-deeky jungle fever love den (his bed was pretty small- he must have been flexible), had some delicious pork tacos with some insanely hot hot sauce, and made it home by midnight. Gonna have to do some serious work in the gym this week, because...brace yourselves...I only have 1 week left! Guess we'll find out if I learned anything.

PS- "College Panek" bio coming the next couple days. Got a bit tied up on my day off on Friday being all productive and shit.