So several times a year, I make a vow to do something to control and/or reduce my weight. It always starts the same — with me not being able to fit into something I’d decided to wear — and I make the exact same promise to myself:
I’m going to eat right.
I’m going to exercise regularly.
I’m going to start taking better care of myself.
Then rain happens. Or happy foods happen. Or just plain laziness. I very vigorously dislike exercise. I won’t say hate, but my feelings are jumping rope with the line between hate and dislike. Double dutch style. (If you don’t know what that is, google it.)
Well as of Monday, I’ve made ‘The Vow” once again — though slightly different:
I’m going to eat less.
I’m going to move more often.
And I still want to take better care of myself.
My 38th birthday recently passed. I flew out to CA to a very fancy resort. The flight was miserable because I got stuck in a middle seat. All of me. I tried to make myself as small as I could, but what can you do with 6 feet and 300+ lbs (Seeing that on the screen is making me nauseous)? I have a couple more trips scheduled this year and I don’t want to spend it trying not to invade someone else’s space or huffing after a short walk. It’s beyond ridiculous.
I won’t tell myself that I’ll eat healthy 3x a day 7 days a week because if I could do that I wouldn’t have this problem. (DUH) But I can say that I will try to eat less. I think I can do that. 1 scoop of ice cream vs. no ice cream? No brainer. And I joined a cross-fit group, which may well go down in history as my worst idea yet. But it’s about an hour a day and the women in the group are just like me – overweight and sick of the madness. So it may be bearable. If I live through it. Plus, each week I make it to all my workouts, I’m going to get myself a massage. Cuz, yeah, ouch.
So maybe I can do it this time. Maybe I can lose some of the weight and actually keep it off.