I don't ask for much.

Really.  I don't.  My wife will chime in with a boatload of disagreement, but I really don't ask for much.  As long as everyone sees things my way, I'm really laid back.  It's just one simple thing.

Each morning, I ask for something relatively trivial.  It doesn't cost anything and it doesn't require anyone to do anything for me.  Ultimately, it affects and puts out no one.  NO ONE.  In the grand scheme of things, it's just a minor detail.

As you know, I've been running some Black Ops under the codename Operation: Fat Bastard.  My recent attempt went ok, but wasn't the most efficient way to kick the scale's ass.  Running several miles a day was a great way to get exercise and get me started on a future Op of running some sort of mini marathon.  However, I was constantly out of energy because I wasn't eating enough and ultimately had to start eating more so I had gas to run again.  I was eating almost as much as I was burning and over 4 weeks I lost 8 pounds. Sounds great, but I've lost 8 pounds in a week before without changing my eating habits so this was a minor set-back.

So, I went back to what's worked a half dozen times before (running in the morning and then again at night, just enough to build up a sweat).  I started that a couple weeks ago and made good progress.  Last Friday I was down to 180 or 181.  As you know, Operation: Fat Bastard doesn't end til the scale starts with the numbers 1 and then 7.

I didn't do a very good job of watching what I ate this past weekend.  I knew I was being bad, but didn't really care.  I had a third beer for the first time in I can't remember when and that bag of chips never stood a chance.  However, I ate reasonable meals and mostly kept my running schedule (my doctor told me even with my limited running distance--only a mile or so at a time--I needed to take a day off once in a while...and what better day to do that than on a Sunday loaded with football).  I was shocked to see the scale at 181.4 yesterday morning.

Last night, I had a small sandwich for dinner, a single beer during the Monday Night Football beatdown that took place, the crumbs left over from the BBQ potato chip bag (seriously, there wasn't a full, unbroken chip in the bag), and a handful of cooked spaghetti noodles left over in the fridge (by midnight last night, I was starving and it was either the spaghetti or one of the cats). 

When I got up this morning, I did my business and then hopped on the dreadmill for my morning jog.  I played around on Facebook while I cooled off, then got in the shower.  I was thinking today would be the day I captured the other team's flag and put and end to Operation: Fat Bastard.  I didn't think it was asking too much.  Again, no one's day is affected by what MY scale says.  I just wanted a bone thrown to me for once.

I was all prepared to title this blog entry as "I came.  I saw.  I kicked its ass."  But, the scale read 180.2 instead.  One eighty point freaking two!!!  Really?  Four tenths (my scale reads in tenths of a pound, but only even numbers after the decimal point--WTF?) of a pound less is all I asked for.  In hindsight, I should have cut my hair last night, I'm sure that would have done it.  Had I know I'd have been so close, I'd have spent longer this morning relaxing with my thoughts on the can. 

179.9 or better...is that asking too much?