First, an ankle injury. Then my home life experiences gross amounts of upheaval. Next, I fail a class. (I have a 4.0 GPA, and the professor begrudgingly agrees to an academic withdrawal after I site numerous contemporaneous circumstances that contributed to my acute failure. But still, I failed.) Adding injuries to insults (or it that the other way around?), I start smoking after nearly 6 months of freedom from the blasted addiction. I fall in love. Still woozy from that, I stop working out completely. I forget that I am "of a certain age". I eat illegal amounts of chocolate chip cookies and mac-n-cheese. The pounds come for a visit and never leave. He loves all of my inches and I learn to pose in the mirror in just a way that temporarily fools my overly-critical eyes before I leave for work. I float away. Far, far away.
I'm happy. But...
I can't ignore my before photos showing the me I am used to seeing, or the painfully honest musings of a child who squeals "squishy!" every time she hugs me, or the pants that won't button even when I am lying on my bed, sucking in my stomach until I can't breathe. I become mildly obsessed with thin women who are in their 40's and 50's--how do they maintain their shapes? I lovingly envy my gorgeous girlfriends, whose parts seem to fit into all the right places. I begin talking about doing yoga, walking, weightlifting, running, Zumba, P90X, jumping rope, taking the stairs, pushups, situps, bicep curls. I talk a lot, but do nothing. I put 3 tablespoons of sugar in every cup of coffee I drink. I drink an average of 4 to 5 cups of coffee every day. I copy my 6'9" boyfriend's eating habits. I suffer mightily for this lapse in good judgement. The pasta and desserts in all-he-can-eat portion sizes collude with my peripatetic lifestyle and I end up miserable.
I'm not as happy as I want you to think I am.
Here I am, here we are: it's the 1st anniversary of this time last year. It's not enough for me to just blab or blog anymore. And it's not enough to go through the motions of making healthier choices if I don't seek to understand why I want/need to make them in the first place. So, the princess is dragging her engorged booty off of the couch (again) and I will be using this space to explore those whys. I can't promise instant success, but I will always share honestly. Thank you for reading this. Thank you to all of my inspirations, near, far, wherever. (That was dangerously close to being a Titanic quote...) You get my drift. Thank you for that too.