Where Is My Motivation?
It may be right below this post.
My first thought when I saw those shots was "holy shit on a stick, I'm fat." (Okay, my first thought was "when did I grow boobs?" The fat thought was my second thought. Followed by my third thought, "holy shit on a stick, when did I grow boobs on my back?")
I know the formula. Eat less + move more = lose weight. Been there. Done that. Have the pictures to prove I was thin again for a while. I know what I have to do. I'm just having a very, very hard time forcing myself to DO IT.
Eat less--duh. This is a no-brainer. But now that I don't smoke, food is the only thing I have left. My lone vice. Well, besides sex, but sex requires so much more planning and preparation, not to mention the other person's consent (unless he's a really deep sleeper). Putting stuff in my mouth makes me happy. Being fat makes me miserable. So I put more stuff in my mouth which makes me fatter which makes me eat more...see where I'm going with this?
Move more--oh, yes, very clever. But just running around the playground with Bob or riding our bikes to the DQ isn't enough. I need some dedicated hard-core physical activity to get rid of my middle-age spread. And when the fuck am I supposed to do that? Lunch time is out. After work is out. Evening is out. The only time is that hour in the morning when I'd Rather Be Sleeping. Maybe if I gave it up and hauled ass out of bed to exercise, I'd have more energy and wouldn't need that extra hour, but goddammit, that hour is MINE. Mine, mine, mine, and I love it. I love my bed. If I could get Hardee's to deliver to my bed, I'd be the happiest (and fattest) girl in the world.
I don't want to die young. I also don't want to live miserable for a long time. Surely there's a happy medium. Where are you, happy medium? Where?
Getting older sucks ass like so much t-ball.
My first thought when I saw those shots was "holy shit on a stick, I'm fat." (Okay, my first thought was "when did I grow boobs?" The fat thought was my second thought. Followed by my third thought, "holy shit on a stick, when did I grow boobs on my back?")
I know the formula. Eat less + move more = lose weight. Been there. Done that. Have the pictures to prove I was thin again for a while. I know what I have to do. I'm just having a very, very hard time forcing myself to DO IT.
Eat less--duh. This is a no-brainer. But now that I don't smoke, food is the only thing I have left. My lone vice. Well, besides sex, but sex requires so much more planning and preparation, not to mention the other person's consent (unless he's a really deep sleeper). Putting stuff in my mouth makes me happy. Being fat makes me miserable. So I put more stuff in my mouth which makes me fatter which makes me eat more...see where I'm going with this?
Move more--oh, yes, very clever. But just running around the playground with Bob or riding our bikes to the DQ isn't enough. I need some dedicated hard-core physical activity to get rid of my middle-age spread. And when the fuck am I supposed to do that? Lunch time is out. After work is out. Evening is out. The only time is that hour in the morning when I'd Rather Be Sleeping. Maybe if I gave it up and hauled ass out of bed to exercise, I'd have more energy and wouldn't need that extra hour, but goddammit, that hour is MINE. Mine, mine, mine, and I love it. I love my bed. If I could get Hardee's to deliver to my bed, I'd be the happiest (and fattest) girl in the world.
I don't want to die young. I also don't want to live miserable for a long time. Surely there's a happy medium. Where are you, happy medium? Where?
Getting older sucks ass like so much t-ball.
posted by Mitzi Green at 12:13 PM
3 Comments:
Um, yeah, feel your pain. This has been one of those weeks when I feel old/fat/frumpy/wrinkly/zitty/you name it.
The only time I can exercise is sneaking it in at night. I go ahead and put on workout clothes when I get home (that gives me no excuses) and then the second Monkey Man goes to bed I give my self a maximum of 45 minutes. Weekends are a little easier but I try to stay under an hour and 15 minutes.
Making time sucks, I hate dieting, but I also hated running out of breath walking up the stairs and being so freaking tired all the time. It's a battle and always will be for me.
This mid thirties aging stuff is bullshit. You feel bad because you think you look bad and then you feel bad for trying to do stuff to make yourself feel and look better. I seriously understand why some women just say "Screw it" and head to the drive thru.
It totally sucks. Not sleeping is making me cranky anyway so I've been getting up at a Godforsaken hour to get exercise and I do feel better...until mid-afternoon when I just want to put my head down and take a nice long nap. Good luck!
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