I’m down just a pound this week, but I’ve carved off more than an inch from my bust, half an inch off my hips and another inch and a half off my tummy for a total of 14.25 inches off my midsection since I started four months ago. See? Something worth smiling for. There always is.
In the moments of helplessness, I let the feeling wash over. And when it passes, I look for the win. And today’s? I saw an ‘8’ on the scale. I haven’t seen the 180’s in three years.
52 weeks to put on 50lbs.
13 weeks to take off 40 of them.
I don’t miss Doritos. Much.
And here I am. The same size as last week, just about a pound heavier.
And that’s cool with me.
Because frolicking is basically cardio, just a little less rigid and a little more regal sounding. Let’s frolic.
I don’t miss sugar, I don’t. Nor carbs, or eating out. I just miss the time I wasted thinking I didn’t have it in me to do something this extreme. But here we are.
You can choose to go to bed early, opt out of that gathering, take another day to do the laundry, buy your meal through the drive-thru, spend time at the spa/salon/massage clinic and do it without guilt, or sin.
I’ve not been on the phone with doctors so much in my life as I have the last two weeks. From life insurance (I almost had forgotten that non-smokers pay way less than when I was a pack-a-day) nurses calling to schedule health exams, to my family doctor asking about my Thyroid medication, suddenly my…
I keep asking myself this over and over. It’s like that Peter Griffin meme – who the hell cares? The fact is – we all care. We care about weight, our appearance, and how we’re seen when we step out the door. At least in some capacity. Confidence should outshine the scale. And I get…