I always saw myself as a big person, no matter what my size. Until I was in college, my mother weighed a buck o five soaking wet with a brick in her hand and my brother could play hide and seek behind a flagpole. My best friends in high school wore size 2 or 4 with room to spare. Me, I was a whopping size 8. I look back on that and fall out on the floor laughing my head off. Hell, if I could see 8 again, somebody might test me for the HIV or the cancer. Thirty hit me super hard, I woke up one morning and couldn’t put on the pants that I had owned for years! All of a sudden some fat chick was wearing my body.
I let that get out of hand. 12 became 14 became 16 and then I hit my threshold. We all have one. That number that makes you say, “oh no ma’am, this will not do”. Baby or not, this will not do. One of the reasons I kinda like staying in the military (reserve duty only) is that my weight can’t get too far away from me. And this is one of those turning points. I have lost weight before with the help of the devil personal trainer but this time I want to do it on my own. So Wii Active and dusty trusty gym membership here I go again. I don’t do diets, food is for nourishment and enjoyment not to enslave us. I make smarter choices when I can and when I eat something fun, I enjoy it. (damn you Frappe) I’m down 5 pounds already and have 25 more to drop. Woo lawd, when I get there, watch out world. The Ambassador has challenged me to drop the weight. He must not know I am competetive with myself. I hate to let me down. I want to have another child in a year or two but I will not do it at this size. I have promised myself a pricey pair of premium maternity jeans and a hot mama-to-be dress the next go round. I keep this picture in my head but I need to put it on my non-existent vision board.
Big Goals
Big Plans
Results
