Monday, February 10, 2014
I've been writing a journal entry every few days since starting back here on SP at the beginning of this year. I think I'm finally ready to start sharing here, so I'll leave you with the first entry from 1/6/14.
I'm back in the game! Time to ditch this weight once and for all. Adios chub rub! Hasta la vista triple chins! Sayonara Mrs. Fatty McFatterson!
I've known for a long time that I need to kick my overindulgence habit to the curb. There were plenty of signs along the way... increased jiggle in my step, decrease in clothing selection, tight spaces getting tighter. The biggest one though? Three letters- ERR. Nothing quite got me like stepping on the dang scale just to get a reading of ERR. I step off the scale, let it turn off, tap the corner and wait for the “0” again. Step on-ERR. Step off, pick up the scale, flip it over to check the battery. Battery is fine. So I sit it down, tap the corner, wait for the “0” again. Step on- ERR. Huh. Is it broken?
So I get the kid, throw her on there. Well, it works just fine for all 48 pounds of her. I try again. ERR. Again. ERR. Again. ERR. What the heck is wrong with my scale?
So I resort to the all-knowing Google. I locate the kind of scale I have, pull up the specs. “Max Capacity: 320 lbs.” Crap. The last time I weighed myself I was at 318, so it only makes sense. I'm too fat for my scale. While my exact weight is unknown, I now know that I am too fat for my scale. Well isn't that something?
Amazingly enough, I don't cry. I decide then and there I need to change this. So back to the Dance Dance Revolution, back to tracking every single delicious, saliva inducing morsel of food I stick in my mouth.
I start out strong, three days of DDRing, calorie counting, mood swinging success. This is fantastic! I'm feeling great and confident that I can do this!
The next morning I wake up and head into the bathroom. As I'm washing my hands, the hubs walks in.
“Your pee smells. Are you late?”
Hmm.....I don't think soo.....
“Take a test. The last time it smelled like that, you were pregnant.”
So I test.
Well, there goes that weight loss plan for a while.
So here I am, almost two years later, my year-old son standing at the other end of the couch, scribbling in a book as I write this.
I'm back baby. And this time, I'm going all the way.