End of month 1 on the Gym Reboot and if you are looking for the Hallelujah Chorus and miracles, go elsewhere.
Newsflash: I HATE to run. HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE it. (And that's still not enough AAAAs to really capture the howl with which I can scream this.)
And, newsflash, that's the best way to get the cardio I need to raise my heart rate consistently to turn on that metabolism that will melt away the chunk I now despise about my upper arms and thighs . . . . which brings us to self-loathing, also not a particularly useful motivator and one I've been employing far too regularly this past month.
The scale has not budged.
Now, the last time I took this on, nothing happened the first month that I could document, slightly firmer muscle tone, but mostly just a raging case of "this is never going to work because I'm a medical miracle that cannot lose weight."
Here's the honest truth: I have rationalized buying Dove Chocolates so that I can just eat two (84 calories) when I have a terrible chocolate craving. I then try not to notice that many days I have had "terrible chocolate cravings" three times a day -- because they are sitting here in a bag. So, month 2 means no more Dove Chocolate.
I go the gym, but I've yet to make it all five days in a row in one week. There is always a late night or a sick morning (just finished the latest round of antibiotics) that messes me up. And when I get there, it's all I can do to pull my sad carcass around that track, feeling like I have elephant legs, and watch all the runners pass me by again and again. Why are all runners small-chested? I mean, I can explain why they don't have thunder thighs -- that's why I'm out there -- but where are the curvy women to keep me company? Plus, I can't breathe right, feeling like I'm drowning, cotton-mouthed, unable to swallow when I try to take a drink of water. But I keep pulling myself around it and tomorrow I will try to get at least one more than I think I can do. Just one more -- that's the key.
I've also been admittedly fast and loose on the food tracking, apart from chocolate. I'm sure I underestimate how much of "a cup" of cheerios is going into my bowl, or how many crackers I have alongside my soup. I have to be more accountable, literally, to get this off of the ground. Since I'm such a photography hound, I think the best way for me to "see" things differently is to make a photo-food-log for myself. That starts tomorrow, too.
Definitely not the triumphant "I"m 8 pounds lighter and well on my way!" kind of news I'd like to have, but I'm hoping getting all of my whining out in the open where it can wither in the light of day will dust away some of the nonsense that has been dragging me down and help make month two the one where I run out of excuses. No promises on the whining, though. Did I mention I HAAAAAAAAATE the track? ;)
Newsflash: I HATE to run. HAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAATE it. (And that's still not enough AAAAs to really capture the howl with which I can scream this.)
And, newsflash, that's the best way to get the cardio I need to raise my heart rate consistently to turn on that metabolism that will melt away the chunk I now despise about my upper arms and thighs . . . . which brings us to self-loathing, also not a particularly useful motivator and one I've been employing far too regularly this past month.
The scale has not budged.
Now, the last time I took this on, nothing happened the first month that I could document, slightly firmer muscle tone, but mostly just a raging case of "this is never going to work because I'm a medical miracle that cannot lose weight."
Here's the honest truth: I have rationalized buying Dove Chocolates so that I can just eat two (84 calories) when I have a terrible chocolate craving. I then try not to notice that many days I have had "terrible chocolate cravings" three times a day -- because they are sitting here in a bag. So, month 2 means no more Dove Chocolate.
I go the gym, but I've yet to make it all five days in a row in one week. There is always a late night or a sick morning (just finished the latest round of antibiotics) that messes me up. And when I get there, it's all I can do to pull my sad carcass around that track, feeling like I have elephant legs, and watch all the runners pass me by again and again. Why are all runners small-chested? I mean, I can explain why they don't have thunder thighs -- that's why I'm out there -- but where are the curvy women to keep me company? Plus, I can't breathe right, feeling like I'm drowning, cotton-mouthed, unable to swallow when I try to take a drink of water. But I keep pulling myself around it and tomorrow I will try to get at least one more than I think I can do. Just one more -- that's the key.
I've also been admittedly fast and loose on the food tracking, apart from chocolate. I'm sure I underestimate how much of "a cup" of cheerios is going into my bowl, or how many crackers I have alongside my soup. I have to be more accountable, literally, to get this off of the ground. Since I'm such a photography hound, I think the best way for me to "see" things differently is to make a photo-food-log for myself. That starts tomorrow, too.
Definitely not the triumphant "I"m 8 pounds lighter and well on my way!" kind of news I'd like to have, but I'm hoping getting all of my whining out in the open where it can wither in the light of day will dust away some of the nonsense that has been dragging me down and help make month two the one where I run out of excuses. No promises on the whining, though. Did I mention I HAAAAAAAAATE the track? ;)
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