Inhaling deeply. And...exhale... Here goes. I've been toying with this idea for a few weeks now and apparently, tonight is THE night.
Welcome, one and all, to my weight loss journey. Yes, I have officially decided I'm on a weight loss journey. Actually, that's crap. I popped out my my mom's underweight uterus on a weight loss journey, as it seems like I've spent my entire fucking life trying to either make peace with my weight, lose weight, keep weight off, or not gain an ounce.
I'm creeping towards 40 and here I sit, blubber engulfed, still trying to lose a few pounds.
Therefore, in an honest but admittedly desperate attempt, I'm 'outing' myself as a fattie and putting it all out there, so to speak, so that I might, in some small way, feel accountable for what I eat, say, do, and think.
Consider me the 2010 version of Bridget Jones, minus the charming British accent, the cigarettes, the single life, and well, the option of making out with either Colin Firth or Hugh Grant on any given night.
Here I am, unveiled, in all my modest glory. I stepped on the scale this morning and weighed 149. I am 5'5' tall and yes, I realize that I am not obese. But, I can't fit into my skinny jeans, feel like a linebacker in my sweaters, and avoid catching my reflection in the mirror. In a nutshell (with nuts I've probably scarfed down in a frenzied, afternoon hunger "binge"), I am miserable with how I look and feel.
Today, in an extended moment of self torture (let's be real here, I'd already stepped on the scale to record my weight), I tried on a pair of skinny jeans. I envisioned the zipper refusing to meet across my stretch mark riddled stomach as if it were two opposing sides in a battle. Instead, the zipper zipped all the way up, but the resulting muffin top overflow was both incredulous and disgusting at once.
To further hit home the fact that I've totally let myself go this winter, I pulled out my favorite summer shorts. They are bright red, short, and I recall wearing them in the Bahamas two years ago with a white tank top and incredibly sexy, black sandals. Again, they zipped, but they fit like a pair of Spanx. I considered wadding them up and stuffing them in my purse, to carry with me as if they were my flag signaling surrender, but left them forlornly in my shorts drawer.
I'm not sure what my exact plan is to lose this weight. I would LOVE to weigh 135, but know myself and know that that is extremely hard (read: miserable) to achieve. The weight I can most get excited about these days is 138. It's under 140, but not just ridiculously low. Mind you, if I went under that, I'd be thrilled, but as someone pushing 150, I won't be too ridiculous.
It's almost 10 p.m. I ate okay today, but probably had more wine than I should have. My plan is to record what I eat each day, for better or worse, here on this blog. My goal is to lose at least 11 pounds and then go from there. Ideally, I would love to achieve this by mid March. That's what, six to seven weeks away? Okay, maybe by early April. I know that it's incredibly hard for me to lose weight fast.
So, there it is. I've said it. You can bet your sweet ass I will be saying it more often too. This might very well be the most real diet journal you've ever read. I refuse to say that I won't be annoying. I am almost certain I will. I refuse to say that I won't muck things up. I *am* certain I will. But I do promise to be real and honest and do the best that I can on any given day.
Hopefully, you'll join me or at least hang out for the ride.
Off we go!
