It was hard stepping on that scale today, knowing the number awaiting me would not be a pleasant one. I had been steadily gaining up until a few months ago when I just completely went off the wagon. That's putting it mildly, I fell off it, then slashed it's tires, then set it on fire. It now sits in my front yard, up on blocks covered with a tarp, a family of woodland creatures reside there now.I wish I had some trauma to blame it on - you know like alien abduction or something equally cool, something other than busy schedules and laziness and general lack of motivation. But I don't.
For this to work, you have to want weight loss more than you want that cookie or cake or bag of chips or the couch. For the last few months I have not prioritized health over instant pleasure, I have opted for the temporary buzz over the long term happiness.
I'm mad at myself. I know it's a waste of emotion and it does little to get that number down. It does little to make it so I'm not gasping for breath after a flight of steps. It does little to give me the energy to want to do anything - play with my daughter, tend to the house, cook a meal - after a long day at the office.
Yes, I'm mad and sick of feeling this way. Sick of wishing I was thinner when a special occasion rolls around and I have nothing to wear. Sick of abusing this otherwise healthy body I've been blessed with. Sick.of.it.
It needs to stop. I gained ten pounds since mhy last weigh in, in early February. Ten pounds that I've worked hard to lose only to gain back again a dozen times. It stops here, it stops now.
It's time to get to work. Who's with me?
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