Wait For Us, Band Wagon!!

Guess who's jumping on the "Let's Lose Weight Because It's The New Year And We're Really Fat" band wagon!

If you guessed Team Abby Gabs, then you'd be 100% right!!

Of course, we're not doing it just because it's January. Yes, everybody else is bustling to their local 24-hour gymnasiums, buying stock in fad diet books, and venturing out in the wee hours to buy bigger stretchy pants for their afternoon jogs. But that's not the reason we're doing it.

Between the two of us, Brian and I definitely need to lose some weight. It seems there's some sort of mathematical equation that involves increasing ages, decreasing activity levels, and expanding waist lines. 

Who knew?

(Other than Oprah, that guy on the Biggest Loser, and Richard Simmons?)

At any rate, we've got our work cut out for us. The bad news? We've got at least 125 pounds to lose between the two of us. And that's a low-ball number.

The good news? (Fortunately, there's more good news than bad.) Brian is home 4 days a week now, so we actually have time to dedicate to fitness. And, better than that, he's totally on board with the whole thing. In fact, he's the one really driving us to start ASAP. (Had it not been for the monkey flu of death, we would have started at the 'official' beginning of the year. Whatever that means.)

Brian is so keen, he even posted the following on Facebook over the weekend:

(It's ok. You can gag over my response. We tend to be way mushier than most couples, both in real life and on social media websites. We can't help it---we strive to annoy people with our ooey-gooey-ness.)

I'm not going to lie, when I threw in the towel in 2012, there were several different reasons for it, none of them very good ones. The main reason, I'm ashamed to admit, was my own lack of conviction. Pair that with several extenuating circumstances (being dumped unceremoniously by someone I considered a dear friend, stress over Brian's last semester of nursing school, my overall knack for excellent laziness, and the temptation of food-oh-so-glorious-food) and what little bit of success I had early last year has been all but erased.

So, we're starting 2013 with a new slate. The fridge has been emptied of all junk food and refilled with fruit, lean meats, and plenty of vegetables. Our schedules are being created around planned exercise excursions. We plan on joining a local gym in the next several weeks so that we have somewhere to go for our workouts. (Because no matter what they tell you, as convenient as working out at home can be, it's way too easy for us Lazy Pants People to come up with an excuse not to do it.)

Our only rules going into this new phase of our lives? 

1) To concentrate on how we feel physically, and how our clothes fit, and how much energy we have--NOT a number on a scale.
2) To help each other through daily cravings, and allow ourselves to cave every now and then, for the sake of our own sanity.
3)To support each other completely, no matter what.

That's our plan for now. I'm sure you'll hear about it on the blog from time to time. And maybe, just maybe, if I'm a perfect wife, I can convince Brian to do a video blog with me to talk about our journey.

But I'm not making any promises, people. He's not shy, but he's not necessarily ready for his close-up yet either, Mr. Demille. 

Contradictions

Somewhere inside of me, there's an athlete begging to be released.


I can hear her screaming, banging her fists against the wall, chanting numbers at me as I crunch, crunch, crunch my way to a thinner waistline. I can feel her inside of my brain, pushing me to run farther, run faster, run longer, even when my lungs and my legs want to give out. I can feel her spirit as it leaps in excitement every time I lace up my cross trainers and strap on my heart rate monitor. 


She's within me. Somewhere.


When I reach for that second helping of starch, My Inner Athlete directs my spoon toward the roasted winter vegetables instead. She steadies my hand that sweetens my coffee every morning, speaks to me through nectarines at the grocery store, and steers me away from the cookies in the bakery. It's My Inner Athlete that causes my eyes to pop open an hour before my alarm is set to go off. She's right there, in my head, whispering "Take to the road, wake up your calf muscles, let's burn some calories before sunrise."

"It's hard to beat a person who never gives up."

I can feel her, slowly taking over my thought processes, sending me, the Fat Girl, into an emotional tailspin.


Each time I make the decision to put myself and my health first, the Fat Girl in me cries out. "You can't do this! It's too hard! You're just going to fail again!" She whines with every lunge, weeps with every squat, begs me to stop each time I increase the speed on the treadmill. She keeps me up at night, nagging me with sore muscles, taunting me with cravings for foods I don't need, waving my shortcomings in my face like so many flags.


Last night, I completed an entire Army PRT program. With support from Dana and guidance from Justin, I power jumped, dead lifted, and half jacked with the best of them. By the end of the conditioning drills, I felt faint. Exhausted. Nauseous. Sore. 


And inexplicably, utterly defeated. 


My Inner Athlete was nowhere to be seen. When I should have been singing my own praises, I was instead left drowning in self doubt. I climbed into my car, drove to the stop sign, put the car in park, and wept. The Fat Girl was singing in my head. "I told you it was too hard! You're too big for this! You can't keep up with trained athletes!"


I dialed my husband's cell phone, begged off grocery duty, turned my car toward home instead of the store. And halfway there, My Inner Athlete finally broke through, shouting over the din of the Fat Girl. "Are you seriously going to let some sore muscles stop you? You just completed a friggin' bootcamp workout. Why are you sobbing like a baby?? Get over yourself, woman! YOU'VE GOT THIS!!"


Her words broke through, and the tears stopped immediately. I slammed on the brakes, made an illegal U-turn and headed straight for that grocery store. Because if I could do V-squats and mountain climbers and 8-count pushups, I sure as hell could pick up some ground beef, zucchinis, creamer, and cat food.

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In that moment, the Fat girl shut up. In that moment, My Inner Athlete won.


One day soon, the Fat Girl will be gone forever. Because as I'm shedding pounds and inches, I'm also shedding my insecurities, my past, my fear, my failures, and my Fat Girl.


I may not be running marathons or even miles (yet) but I'm getting there. I'm getting stronger and stronger with each passing day. And every time I listen to My Inner Athlete, I make the right decision. For my family, for my husband, for my health. For me.

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