The “Oh My Fucking DAMN” Moment.

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I got on the scale yesterday morning. I don’t know why. I’ve been eating like my 5-old-son and drinking like my 58-year-old mother. The scale is not my friend.

253. Two-cock-sucking- hundred- fifty-fucking-three pounds. That is the heaviest I have ever been and I am not gestating a human life. Shit.

So yesterday, I was Captain Healthy. I logged onto Spark People, logged what I ate and more importantly, ate like what I put in my mouth mattered. Such a small thing, but essential if I want to eventually say goodbye to double-digit sizes.  And today when I stepped on the scale, 249. Which is awesome, but sort of sets me up for disappointment tomorrow. Losing 4 pounds overnight is not something that happens regularly. It shouldn’t any way. And while I know it’s water weight, I know that 2 pounds a week is a reasonable goal, I know it’s going to take more than a year to get to where I need to be, still.

4 pounds, bitches. If only every morning would be as satisfying. The short-term goal is 10 pounds. No locked down time frame, but by July 4th would be grand. The next benchmark is 25 pounds, that ever-elusive 10% mark. If I can just keep at it. Because that, my friends, is my problem. I am a champion starter and a loser at follow-through. I really hate that about myself and would love to change the pattern.

How do you keep yourself motivated and on track?

 

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