Well, well, well. Look who's still alive. The original fat girl herself: me. Here I am, a year later, 20 pounds heavier (oh mah bob, really? fatter???) and more determined than ever to finally lose this #$%^^&ing weight.
The past year has been designed by Satan himself to derail me and stress me out to the point of madness. Between my husband's new job which keeps him away on a rotating schedule that never fails to be as inconvenient as possible (though I am very thankful he has a job and more importantly, a job he likes), a child who was diagnosed with a serious chronic illness and the eleventy thousand doctor's appointments, tests, meds, calls to insurance companies and trips to the pharmacy that have accompanied it, along with my mother's THIRD go 'round with cancer (seriously, Mom, three times?!), I've found myself making stress-induced trips to the fridge more times than I can count. (And I can count pretty stinkin' high, so you know it's been a LOT of trips to the bloomin' fridge.) Not that any of that is an excuse. Because it's not. It's as more of an explanation than anything. I'm done rationalizing why I weigh what I weigh. The truth is that endocrine disorder aside, and stress level aside, I EAT TOO MUCH. There. I put too much food into my body and don't do any exercise to burn the bajillion calories I ingest. Hey! I think I just had one of those Oprah-sponsored lightbulb moments!!!
So here I am. Tipping the scales at an even unhealthier weight, but bound and determined that it will come off. We're going to Disneyworld in October and as shallow as it may sound, I don't want to a) be the big fat fattie some poor person has to squeeze next to on the airplane, b) be the big fat fattie who's huffing and puffing through the park, ready to stroke out at any given second and c) I don't want to look at my big fat fattie self in pictures for the rest of eternity. Oh yeah, and I want to be healthy and not have a heart attack at 41 and live a long life, blah blah blah. But mostly I don't want to see my bloated face in pictures EVER AGAIN.
In a day and a half, I'll head to see my good friends at Weight Watchers for my first weigh in. Believe it or not, I'm actually excited about weighing in. (I swear, I'm not on drugs.) I've been working the program for 5 days now and I feel really good about weigh in. It's so amazing to eat because you're actually hungry and not because you're bored and you've trained yourself to always have some sort of food product in your mouth. I've been walking with my mom 3 times a week and I've surprised myself (and my mom) by walking 3-4 miles each time. It feels really good! I whine and moan the entire time about how my hips hurt and how I'm pretty sure I'll die before we get back to the car, but the reality is that I'm proud of myself for making the commitment and sticking to it. It helps to have someone hold you accountable, and nobody does accountability better than my mom! I bought a Dancing with the Stars exercise tape for days that we don't go walking, and I'm excited to learn the Latin dances. (I'm telling myself it's not exercise--it's dancing. And I looooove to dance!) Thinking about buying a bike, but that's still a bit down the road. (Have you seen those retro looking Schwinn coaster bikes? So flipping cute! I absolutely need to own one.) My hope is that a year from now, I won't look back at this blog and see cobwebs because I haven't written any entries. And it should go without saying that I hope in a year, I will not only NOT be fatter, but that I'll be considerably lighter.
Yup. It's gonna happen. I can feel it in my bones...