The last month sucked. Hardcore. I stopped losing weight. But that's not really the problem because hell, plateau's happen. We all know this. No big deal. They're frustrating but you just push through, wait it out, switch it up, and get back on track. Guess what I did instead. I climbed into an imaginary hole in the ground and waited for the world to just magically fix itself. I started eating at maintenance and decided that if I feel crappy anyway, I might as well eat gluten to have a controllable cause for my problems.
I felt out of control.
I got depressed.
The fat chick in the mirror got more vocal.
I stopped wearing my "thin" clothes and traded them for over-sized shirts
I stopped running because I could feel things "jiggle".
I gained 7lbs of gluten bloat virtually overnight.
I wandered aimlessly searching for my path and letting myself get drawn off the course by distractions like school, life, and stupid things like TV shows.
I managed to pull it together yesterday and got myself on the road with the destination I want.
I spent hours yesterday cooking. I made and froze eight lunches and enough egg muffins to equal breakfast for the whole week. I threw out the breads that had creeped into our home in the last few weeks. I took a super long shower to cleanse myself of the filthy self-image that I had once again allowed itself to mask what I see in the mirror.
Why is this SO hard?
Because nothing worth doing is easy.
I want this so bad. Why did I let myself do this to...well... myself?
I've got a new exercise plan too. Hopefully something new will bring new things.
I'm starting it tomorrow. Now, I'm not saying that to put it off. Heck, I might start it tonight if I'm up to it. At 6pm I'm heading out to the golf course for a vigorous round of walking golf. I'm pretty sure some warm-up driving, the walk, plus carrying my bag of clubs will equal a decent workout.
I need this fixed. Now. And as soon as I get to my goal I'm going to do my damnedest to not make myself a victim again.