Monday, March 18, 2013
I mentioned tracking my inches in my last blog entry. I meant to post more about working out, but I got off on a tangent and felt it was getting too long so I split the entries.
In my weightloss journey, I began to workout. I had always been told my whole life I wasn't fit. Strike that...when I lived with my mom, I was allowed to roam free and so I was always exploring, running, playing...I was the sporty type. When I moved in with my stepmom, yes, she actually cared where I was and that I was safe, but it also meant she curtailed much of my activity right when a young girl was starting to develop. At the same time she taught me the idea of hoarding and binging on sweets. I wasn't obese, but I felt like I was. I just wish i could weigh what I did in my teen years with her when she was making me feel bad for the extra weight.
I didn't play well in gym. I once saw my gym teacher's note about me on his grading sheet: makes great effort, not athletic. I had changed, as you are bound to when your only activity besides walking or biking to school takes place in gym class.
I've since learned I may not excel, but I can be fit. I did the Insanity workout- and survived. I began running, for the first time in my life, and finished my first 5k in 35mins- and that was with the breaks I took to enjoy the colors of the Color Run.
Now, as I see the weight I have back on my body, it's hard not to let myself regret those hours running, lifting, moving myself to the point of "can I move again"?
I looked at my weightloss journal. The one that I marked my dropping inches in. I noticed that the last time I was at this weight (nearly a year ago) I was pretty much an inch bigger all around. As I gained weight, I had kept active. And it paid off. No regrets. Those fat burning muscles are still there and I intend to use them!