I know I joke and kid around a lot about my weight .... in a sort of, "the best defense is a good offense" kind of way. I'm partly kidding, because I'm healthy and happy and love me a good spoonful of chocolate chip cookie dough, and really, who on this planet besides ME gives a hoot how I look? .... and partly, I've always acknowledged, somewhere deep in the recesses of my brain, that possibly, maybe, there is a small, teeny tiny, minute chance I could stand to lose a few pounds, IF I'm being totally honest with myself. The fact that NONE of the clothes in my closet fit me anymore is another tiny clue.
Then, I saw the pictures Blaine took of me on the cruise, in a swimsuit. Photographers everywhere know that the problem with actually BEING the photographer is that you are rarely in the pictures. In my case, specifically, since I am the one who takes the kids to the pool and the lake, I am NEVER in pictures in a swimsuit. Until vacation, when Blaine so gallantly offered to take some photos so I could have photographic proof that I truly did go on vacation with my family.
After seeing those pictures, I think I shall have to burn the evidence. It would be less painful for me to trick my kids into believing I wasn't there, and have them endure years of therapy to reconcile their absentee mother, than to have to print those pictures out and ever look at them again. EVER.
All kidding aside, they were horrifying. According to the bathroom scale, I am at least forty pounds overweight, which in my mental image of myself, translated to "slightly chubby". In photos, well, it translated to something much, MUCH uglier than that. And really, it was the painful prompt I needed to do something about my weight.
So the week we returned from vacation, I started a serious, SERIOUS, no-procrastinating, no excuses, make like Nike and just DO IT NOW, diet and exercise program.
Which lasted for approximately twelve hours.
Because I had so much laundry to do, and I was really, really tired from the drive from Baltimore, and hadn't had a chance to go to the grocery store. So I had to resort to eating whatever was left in the pantry. And the older two kids were at church camp, and then I *still* hadn't gone to the store, so we were eating out quite a bit.
Then you look up and a week's gone by and you've actually (meaning *I've* actually) gained three more pounds. Damn you, brand-new Panera Bread, only ten minutes from my house ::shakes fist at sky::
I vowed THIS week would be it .... THIS is the week I would start. First day of the rest of my life, and all that crap.
Then, in the previous five days, this is the list of excuses I've used not to exercise:
1. Traveling with Blaine.
2. After returning home, tired from traveling with Blaine.
3. It's too early.
4. It's too late.
5. It's too hot.
6. I don't have time to take another shower later today.
7. Sun is too bright and makes my eyes squinty which causes wrinkles. I might be fat, but I don't want to look fat AND old.
8. After exercising one day, I deserve a day off.
9. Legs still hurt from actually exercising one day.
10. Forgot my ipod. Heaven forbid I walk and have to listen to myself THINK for an hour.
11. I have a rash on my ankle.
12. My shoes are squinchy.
13. In a nutshell, I hate it.
So then this morning, driving Kellen to the wellness and strength training/conditioning camp that his school puts on all summer, I saw a man out walking his dog.
Because he only had ONE LEG.
God, I suck.