Yesterday morning, I got on the scale for the first weigh-in of the “Let’s Get Physical” weight loss challenge I’m participating in.
I was worried. I hadn’t been perfect, by any means.
There was the steak at Outback on Saturday. The one that was worth double the points I thought it was.
And the pumpkin muffin, bought while on a sugar low.
And more than one glass of wine.
But still I managed to lose more than two pounds!
I’ve been here before, of course.
I get all excited for a week or two, and the pounds start dropping off. But then I get lazy. And sloppy. I sneak in a couple extra bites of cake. Forget to track a glass of wine or two. And, most damning of all, get “too busy” to move my body and sweat a little.
Then the weight loss stops and I get discouraged. I decide that perhaps I’m just meant to be heavy. That being skinny isn’t all it’s cracked up to be, anyway.
Soon, the desserts make a comeback.
The treadmill gets dusty.
And my stomach stays flabby.
I hope this time will be different. I feel that it could be. I think I could be back to my “healthy” weight by Christmas.
I’d sure like to wear a size in the single digits again.
I want to be a good role model for my daughter. I want to show her that eating right and exercising regularly are, well, just things that we should do to take care of our bodies.
So I’ve got to keep the momentum going.
I’ve got to feed my inner stress eater with fruit, not cookies.
I’ve got to start my day with exercise, not five rounds of the snooze alarm.
I’ve got to keep on keeping on.
Wish me luck.