I've been debating a blog post for a few weeks now, but I didn't want to put stuff out into the universe too much, lest it come back to bite me in my (slowly disappearing) ass. But it's been three weeks. I have no hesitations. The thought of quitting doesn't even occur to me, so I guess I can put this out there. I'm FINALLY working on my physical health for the year. I've got work in line. I have a little (not enough but a little) money in savings. My house isn't immaculate, but it's livable and I'm not horribly embarrassed if someone stops by. I guess that leaves me with one major goal for the year. My health.
I've started working out a couple of times this year. I've started eating rightish a couple of times this year. Nothing clicked. Nothing stuck-except the extra pounds I have to lose. I look back now and know I just wasn't ready. Wasn't committed. Wasn't prepared. Then about a month ago I realized I was really down in the dumps. Like really low. If I was at home, I was laying in bed watching anything that was on tv or sleeping. I was letting my house go. I hadn't fixed a meal in my kitchen in weeks. I just didn't like me. Nothing had really changed, I just was so miserable and unhappy. I messaged a trusty old friend, Trainer Jason, and told him I had to get back to working out. That the last time I really remembered being happy was when he and I were training together over a year ago before my back went all wonky on me. That it was time. We worked out a schedule, nothing too intense, two days a week. I thought, look at that, I just have to commit to two hours each week and my life will be all better. Man, was I wrong.
Wednesday, October 9th rolled around. I left work, got to the gym and put on my less than pretty workout gear, and headed up to the treadmill. Jason and I talked for a bit. He asked me my goals. My goals? What were my goals? Why was I doing this other than to be happy? I said I didn't really know. Then as we kept talking I realized I didn't want to get to my 35th birthday in the same shape I was in then. I had made so much progress in every other aspect of my life, why keep holding myself back in the part? Then he asked me my plan. "Well, I plan to try to come to the gym 4 days a week. Two with you and then two on my own on the treadmill." And what about nutrition? "Uh, yeah. Something at some point, but I think I better focus on this first or I'll fail and then I'll be back to where I was." I have no idea how, over the course of the next hour I committed to changing my diet and working out 6 days a week. Jason must just be that good.
It wasn't that I didn't want to do it. I just didn't think I was ready. I thought I needed to test the water with my toes instead of jump in, full on, balls to the wall. I was so very wrong. So we laid out small goals for the next 12 weeks, along with my big goal of 7 months (my birthday), weighed me, measured me, did a few exercises, and I went home with my head racing. WHAT HAD I JUST COMMITTED TO?!!?
I spent the next two days letting it sink in. Then on Friday, I gorged on Mexican food and margaritas (my favorite thing in the world) and went to bed early. Saturday morning, I got up, went to the grocery store and stocked my fridge. I came home and washed and cut up and portioned all of the fruits and veggies. Cooked up a bunch of chicken breasts. Portioned out hummus. Basically, I set myself up for success. It was a new thing for me. I had always anticipated failure, so I had set myself up for it.
I have a long road ahead of me, friends. I can always use support and kind words (which I already get a lot of, but I'm not too shy to ask for more!). I have set my goal, 160 pounds to lose in 18 months. (As of this post, I am down 8.3-that .3 is very important-and 4 inches). There's a lot of little goals before then. And I set myself all kinds of daily and weekly goals on top of those even. The sense of accomplishment is so important to success. And I am going to succeed.
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