OH geeze. I was getting dressed this morning AFTER I woke at 320 to work out at 24-Hour Fitness Hawaii Kai, after my shower, and I’m like WTPho PANTS? They were supposed to fit. Size 10. I’m proud to be a size 10. And when you finish a workout the last thing your body should do is inform you of how far you are from your goals. That really disagrees with me! Oh, I got the pants on, but it isn’t pretty. So these giant granny jackets I’m wearing to cover my crusty arms are also covering my fat butt and the tops of my thighs, which for a while now I will be referring to as rolling thunder.
Oh yeah, and how many times have I mentioned here that I’m on Weight Watchers? Today I am a WW FAIL. Yesterday when I weighed in with a gain, dear Counselor Katie asked me if I were on medication. Hey how convenient because I am! Plus, my arm is SWELLING! So that’s my excuse but I cannot be in denial. I know I’ve been reacting to stress lately with food and wine. I guess this is my come to Jesus blog, because, well, you know me: Own it and get over it.
What do I need to do? Ride the training bike at home after work. Actually make the miracle zero-point soup and eat it. And cancel wine o’clock for a while. I wonder if I could cancel my period? I didn’t think so.
Here’s the plan. While I’m going through this sloughing event on my arms, while I’m having to hide them under giant granny jackets, I’ll also journal my food, skip the lousy shiraz after work, pop on the bike and sweat like a pig, and get to bed by 915pm nightly. I’ll also stick to the Tuesday and Thursday butt-crack-of-dawn workouts at 24-Hour Fitness Hawaii Kai and ride those increasingly longer butt-crack-of-dawn Saturday road-cycling treks with John. Then, when I can stop wearing the granny jackets, I’ll be trim enough for the, ahem, reveal.
Would you believe that I should drop 30-40 pounds? Still in a size 10 (exploding seams, yet)! The burst Achilles tendon episode set my weight loss achievements back to square one, so here we go again. I like to be healthy and fit. I also like to be trim. I cannot stand being my own personal weather system: All thunder, lightning, torrents of tears, melodramatic moods, a big-assed baby.
I’ve decided it’s time to listen to the pants.