But, eh, everyone has trouble. With all the living beings, both sickly and healthy, that depend on me, there is no excuse for letting things go this way. No excuse for zero exercise and daily drive-thru lunches. No excuse for smuggling candy bars into my office to scarf down in private while tears run down my increasingly round cheeks. And the donuts -- ah, the donuts. My mom (also known as "Doom," if you follow me on Twitter) gave my youngest daughter a recipe book that includes how to make donuts. Homemade donuts? I didn't have a chance.
As with so many people, my decision to get off this crapcycle of misery 8 eating 8 misery is motivated by a photo. Not a photo of my double chin or my expanding waistline, though. No, this was a completely innocent set of photos of the dogs. We're taking extra pics of Sarge, our black-and-tan German shepherd and Best Dog in the Universe, because we're not sure how much longer he'll be with us due to his spinal problems. Looking over the latest
batch of photos, I came across this:
Whose pudgy fat knees and cankles are those? Imagine the gasp when I realized those gams are MINE. Even at my sloppiest, I've had good calves and ankles and could totally rock four-inch Do Me Pumps. But those days are gone, buried under three months of Twinkies and Pepsis from the gas station. This photo floored me.
And, I believe, it has motivated me to get my act together.
First step: Get back out on the road and RUN, dammit. This week the goal is a run or an elliptical workout every day for 5 days. There is some diet clean-up involved, such as a moratorium on value meals, but the heavy nutrition overhaul comes next week once I've had a chance to stock up on food that won't kill me slowly.
Stay tuned to hear (and see) how I do, hopefully with a minimum of whining. I wonder how much weight I'll have to lose in order for it to show in my CALVES. We'll find out together!
