Thursday, November 4, 2010
As I get older, I'm always losing things. I'm not sure if this has more to do with the fact that I can't remember where I put them, or the fact that I'm not the most organized female in the world. I'm not even the most organized female in my house, and the only other dose of estrogen there is the dog.
Anyway, the latest thing I seem to have lost is my motivation to eat right and work out. I was going good there for about a week, which is actually longer than I commit to most things. (My kids don't know how lucky they are.)
I lost three pounds within the first week. Then the weekend hit and by Monday I had not only gained those three pounds back, but I also added another to it.
That's about the time I hit my "eff this" stage. I actually hit that stage quite a bit. I'm pretty sure they have a little plaque hanging in my honor at that stage.
Now I know, deep down inside, that the weight is probably that temperamental water weight that takes up residence every month, and maybe, just maybe (dare I hope?) it may also be a little bit of muscle thrown in too, because there for awhile I really was feeling the burn.
But in my irrational womanly, hormone-imbalanced brain, the scale called me fat. So I agreed and had hamburgers and tater tots with the boys. And didn't work out.
(I did restrain myself from scarfing down a milkshake because I knew there was no coming back from that ledge.)
I was all set to give in to the taunting of the big mean scale until I read a blog post by Lindsay Maddox where she dared her readers to stop making excuses. She dared me. So now I kinda sorta hafta stop making excuses. It's the rule of a dare.
But I'm not running, Lindsay! Do you hear me? You can't make me run! Although burning 1,000 calories sounds awesome. Do you know how much I could eat if I burned 1,000 calories...
So, since Miss Lindsay dared me to stop making excuses, I'm going to stop making excuses and find my motivation.
Maybe the dog knows where it is...
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