Getting Real

Welcome to my blog.

Seriously. Welcome.

It's taken me a while to get this started. I've had several folks recommend I do a blog but I just never got around to it. When you're raising three young children and three dogs (two of which are young, also), building a business, running a household, plus trying to scrape together time to spend with your husband, it's not like you think to yourself "Hmmm... I think I should do a blog! Yeah! That's the absolute best idea! What have I been waiting for?"

But honestly, writing is a great outlet for me. This shall be my cheap creative outlet. I'm all about cheap these days. 

When I created my blog account, I was really contemplating what exactly to write about. Like, what is the theme of this? What is the point of this? Well, I'm compelled to share my journey with fitness and health. You have no idea (okay, maybe you do) the rantings I could do on a daily basis regarding this journey. Holy smoke. From the women who weigh 120 and talk about how My Fitness Pal is like a "fun little game" and then fold themselves into thirds when they sit down, to the people who think less of you for having emotional eating issues, to the size of my jeans making me bawl in a dressing room, the rantings, emotions, and teeth gritting soar high.

I've always, as I often read it titled in magazine articles and books, "struggled with my weight." Starting when I was a teenager and in that awkward phase we all go through... even though, I was actually a GODDESS.  Do you ever look at photos from back then, and think "I was so screwed up! How the hell did I ever think I was fat?" Thank you, Seventeen, Teen, Glamour, and, well, pretty much any fashion/style/beauty magazine out there. I was the QUEEN of comparison. It became an obsession, and I didn't measure up. I never did, and was never going to. It's my goal, now, to lavish my own daughter with compliments on how gorgeous, precious, and amazing she is. When I talk about weight, I try my darndest to use words like health and fitness instead of "weight loss", or "fat."

I love fitness. I love to work out. Most of the time. If it's an activity I like, I'll do it. I love dancing, running, kayaking, canoeing and horse back riding. Fitness is not where my struggle lies with weight loss. Oh, no. 

I love to eat yummy food. And I'm an emotional eater. Happy day, have a sundae. Bad day, have a bag of chips. Or really, any time of day. Anywhere. Chips are amazing. We can't keep them in the house. Because I will eat them. Most of them. And most of the time, all of them. Which my husband does not appreciate. They're delicious, and satisfyingly crunchy. Yum, yum, yum.

However, I just saw a picture on Pinterest the other day of a morbidly obese woman digging into a half gallon of ice cream, next to a picture of an in-shape woman and it was captioned "Eat delicious, or look delicious." Puts things in perspective. Granted, the soul of my motivation is to be healthy, move around like a feather, and be quicker and competitive, and stronger, not die of health problems, and really just kick some serious keister.

And I'm just not going to be able to do that if I'm filling my face with tasty sugaryness several times per week.

Which brings me to the present. After a week of, what I thought was cutting back enough on calories, and working out hard and consistently, I gleefully rose from my bedchamber in the dim light of morning, and stepped onto the scale. I lost three tenths of a pound. Seriously?! REALLY?! 

Then, I got brutally honest with myself. "Well... I have been reading about the effects of alcohol on weight loss... and I drank this week... More than one... Okay, okay FINE! No more alcohol." Learning lessons.

 

In light of the scale not budging, however, I have the benefits of all the cardio from the past week. Five days of it. Go me! Never a failure. Never!

So here you shall read of my triumphs and failures, my rantings and ravings, and you may get to know me better than you wanted to!

I look forward to it.

~Me.