A Belly Flop and Breakfast

I'm not going to tell you about how much I ate and drank over the weekend, but I will tell you I felt like a salt-cured pig by last night.  I weighed myself and pouted about it, not that I was surprised.  Usually I can tell if I'm retaining water because I feel it in my fingers, but I was feeling it all over my whole body, even my shins.  Before I went to bed I chugged a ton of water and over night, I kid you not, I sweat out two pounds of water.  Maybe more.  I have no idea what the weight of the water was that I had between when I stepped on the scale and when I went to bed.  The biology nerd in me is thinking, "Whoa!  That's awesome!"   But also, truthfully it's kinda gross.

Either way I look at it, I woke up this morning feeling a lot better.  Not 100%, but at least I didn't feel like Violet Beauregarde anymore.  Since I was awake at 5:30 and there was no chance I was going to fall back asleep, I decided to go for a run.  It felt fantastic to be running, so I increased my speed a little.  Michael Jackson came on my ipod and I went into the zone.  I was rockin' and rollin' around a tight corner when my toe caught on some rockery.  I desperately tried to catch my balance, but it was all in vain... I had too much forward motion, and I was going down no matter what.  As I watched the pavement rush toward me (in slow motion, of course), I had to decide how exactly I wanted to take the impact.  With the footing I had left, I hurled myself forward in an attempt to miss as much of the concrete as possible and land on the parking strip. 

Now as if that's not enough of a visual, picture this:  as I'm plummeting toward the ground I'm thinking, "I don't want to hurt my wrists," so I throw back my arms.  Then I realize I'm about to face plant and get all worried about my teeth, so I throw my head back, lock open my mouth so my teeth don't bite down, and stick out my midsection to bear the brunt of the impact (yes, this is all going through my mind in the half second it took to actually fall).  So I belly flop onto the grass, mouth open, looking skyward.  I think I let out a noise that sounded like "huah!" when I hit the ground.  I can't remember; my adrenaline was pumping pretty good.

Stunned, I sat up on my knees and surveyed the damage.  Grass stains all down my front, a hole in my coat, and part of the plastic zipper shredded.  Otherwise, I was golden.  The woman who was parking her car as I was diving toward the grass leaned her head out the window.  I have no idea what she said, but I'm assuming she was asking if I broke anything.  Just my pride, girlfriend.  I was still catching my breath, so I gave her a thumbs up and got to my feet.  I was only about a half mile into the run, so I thought I'd finish it.  When I got back to the apartment, I snapped a pic with my phone so you could see the damage.  It's grainy, so I've embellished it for you:

Awesome, right?  I really wish you could see all the levels of green in the grass stains.  They're all over the front of the jacket, but it looks like the camera on my phone only picked up the darkest parts.  I can't believe I wasn't hurt at all.  Looks like this girl knows how to fall.

Then I made myself a delicious breakfast of egg white tacos with black beans and zucchini.  No added salt.  For those of you who know me well, you also know that me not add a shake or three of salt is HUGE.  I thought the tacos would be bland and boring but they were actually delicious.

Also, as you can see today was day-one without Coffeemate.  I'm going off it.  It's not good for me and I don't need it.  I haven't decided if I'm going to allow a weekend cup or not.  Right now I'm going to play it by ear and definitely abstain on week days. Wish me luck.