I don't work during the summer due to my job as Peon Extraordinaire at an elementary school. I feel guilty about not using my college education, but this is balanced nicely by the fact that I get three kick-ass months off to do as I please. My kids are old enough to be quite independent, so 12 solid weeks to devote to losing weight are mine for the taking. So obviously I am chugging along, knocking off pounds left and right. Right? Right??? Ummmmm......not to change the subject, but that's a great shirt you're wearing. I've always loved that color on you.
Let me lay it out for you. My first two weeks of working out and eating well went splendidly. I was the queen of fruits, vegetables, whole grains, lean meat, aerobic exercise and actually taking my thyroid medication as directed. I didn't weigh myself because I tend to want to see 20 pound losses over a 3-day period. It turns out this is a tad on the unrealistic side outside of NBC's The Biggest Loser. So I went more by how I felt and how my clothes fit. The pants weren't a whole lot looser after 14 days, but I found I didn't need a crane to hoist myself out of our low-slung car, I wasn't winded toweling myself off after a shower and my joints didn't cry themselves to sleep at night.
Then came the Fourth of July weekend. It started with the ice cream cone at Lake Harriet, continued through the butter-topped popcorn and Icee at the movies and concluded with a frosting-laden concoction straight from that purveyor of all things evil: Byerly's. I started slacking off on exercising. I really, really, really like to sleep and instead of getting up to work out before the boys' swimming lesson, I'd lay in until the last possible moment and then whisk them off to the pool. Having skipped breakfast - against the advice of every third magazine article ever written - I'd be ravenous when we returned home around noon. After eating lunch I wouldn't feel like exercising, I'd get busy doing anything else and voila! Each day came to a close with very little in the way of physical activity. Apart from getting up to pry my kids apart when they were beating the shit out of each other, of course.
So instead of getting into some of the smaller clothes that mock me every time I open the closet door, I found myself once again at swanky Savers, buying extra large tops and size 18 capris to get me through the summer. I refuse to buy undergarments there (duh) so I'm making do with the bras I have even though it's like using dental floss and two teabags to immobilize a pair of swinging cantaloupes. I love to shop for clothes when they look good on me, but when I'm fat I refuse to spend money on anything nice. Because sadly, paying more doesn't mean getting a garment that makes my butter-topped abdomen or frosting-laden thighs look any better.
I really do enjoy eating fresh, healthy foods and feeling that rush of endorphins when I engage in vigorous movement. But you know what? I also really like chips, fried chicken, cake, Coke and laying around reading Entertainment Weekly. (Come on, you know my encyclopedic knowledge of the celebrity world has helped you out of a tight spot at some point in our acquaintance.) I need to get it through my brain that indulging myself translates directly into flabby arms and a shocking number of chins. I need to embrace the fact that better choices will lead me to a place where I can see my collarbones again. I have seven weeks left of summer and a million reasons to do just that.
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