“Two hundred sixty four thousand nine-hundred minutes.
Two hundred sixty four thousand moments so dear
Two hundred sixty four thousand nine-hundred minutes.
How do you measure, half of a year?”
At the risk of blaspheming J. Larson’s classic, a parody of “Seasons of Love” from ‘Rent’ seems appropriate to show just how much I’ve slacked in the past six months.
I am ashamed. Embarrassed. Horrified at the state I’ve gotten myself in, physically. I had surgery last August, which was the springboard to my half of a year’s worth of excuses to not eat right, not exercise, and just be overall lazy. That slid nicely into a river of denial where “I just don’t feel like it” turned into “I’m depressed because of the weather” and “I’m down because I’m lonely,” and an overture of “Woe is Me” arose to the heavens to the point that even I am annoyed by myself. *ugh*
So, where does 2012 find me? Weighing a whopping 230 lbs. My lights in 2011 was 189. (Truth be told, I’m actually sitting at 222 right now, but let’s just go ahead and claim it. I’m claiming my 230.) The reasons don’t matter. It is what it is. Dwelling and analyzing won’t get me to change any faster.
SO! Here’s the plan. Kick my own ass when I make excuses and whine and cry. Get aforementioned fat ass into the gym after class. Not self medicate with food and wine, and voerally just shake this mental plague that’s been hurting me since last year and before.
Sound like a plan? Good. Because it will be. You hear that, me? You know what to do. Get off your ass and do it. I’m really disappointed in you because you let yourself get lazy. You know better. So go show you and go show me that we think we’re worth it. I’m not giving up on you. Deal?