See, first there was summer. Then there was kidney stones and injuries and vacations and road trips and general time-wasting. And now there's just...boredom and laziness, compiled with an ever-expanding waistline and too-tight jeans.
Go me.
And so, my sad, crumby truth is that I've spent the last 4 months regaining more than half of the weight I managed to lose at the beginning of the year.
It started off with little things: a teaspoon of sugar on my multi-grain Cheerios, a diet soda with lunch, a homemade pizza with extra cheese. But you know what they say....trigger foods create a dieter's worst nightmare. I went from occasional treats to constant cravings. From eating out twice a month to eating out twice a week. From a random diet soda on a random afternoon to having a 12-pack of Pepsi in my fridge.
It's a slippery slope, people.
I'm not the only one who's suffered from my lack-of-will-power, either. If I put a green leafy salad with simple grilled chicken in front of my husband, he will eat it with gusto. If I put a huge grilled steak with a twice-baked potato slathered in sour cream and cheese in front of my husband, he will eat it with an equal amount of gusto. And when I say, "Babe, I'm craving chocolate," he doesn't just come home with a candy bar. He comes home with OPTIONS: ice cream, miniature Reese cups and a Paula Deen double-chocolate pound cake.
It's true. He loves me.
But we rarely acknowledge the growing tummies that separate us when we hug.
I think about starting over at least 100 times a day. Each time I look in the mirror, each time I struggle to button my jeans, each time my knee cracks when I heft myself off of the couch. And then I'm faced with taking the actual steps---tossing out the junk food, making that first grocery list, digging out my calorie counting apps and notebooks---and I totally stall out. I just don't have the energy.
Instead I'm all like:
"But Abby, you'd have the energy if you'd start working out again!"
Yeah, yeah. I already know that. In fact, I know a LOT about weight loss.
I know what it takes to lose weight. I know the math. I know the foods I should avoid. I know how many calories I have to burn each day. I know the proper form for a push-up. I know running is harder on the joints, but better for the burn, than time spent on an elliptical. I know that "low-fat" options aren't always better than regular fat options in moderation. I know the first step is just doing something about it instead of complaining with no action.
I know, I know, I know, I know, I KNOW!!!
What I don't know is why I keep failing. Why I'd rather put on my pajamas and lay on the couch than run a lap around my neighborhood. I don't know why I lose 30 or 35 pounds, only to give up just when I'm starting to really get a good head of steam going. I don't know why I give up. I just do.
So now begins the tedious task of psyching myself up to do it all over again. I have to convince myself that it's worth it. That I'm worth it. I have to try and forget the achy muscles, sore calves, and blistered feet, and instead try and focus on better sleep, thinner thighs, more energy. I need to jump-start my life.
Got any jumper cables I can borrow?
