Okay, I'm overweight. Not obese, not freakish, just too plump for my own good. What we know about heart disease and cancer should be a good enough reason to drop 30 or 40 pounds, but I'm a former smoker...it takes a lot to scare me. I want to be able to bend over and paint my toenails without my abdomen being a barrier! I want to look like I'm not pregnant with a food baby!! Good health is for the conscientious. Good looks are for the conceited.
I've been "eating right" for 23 days. My food choices have been recorded, if not meticulously, then at least faithfully, in my always handy spiral notebook. I have had chicken, fish, and salad. I've had low-fat, no-fat, low carbs, no carbs. I've cut calories and I've walked in the heat and humidity of every Houston morning.
The scale has not moved. If you want to know what discouragement looks like, I can paint you a word picture. Discouragement is a fifty-eight year old woman with size 12 yoga pants who has to lie down to button her NOT YOUR DAUGHTER'S JEANS. Discouragement has to take a little pink pill every morning to keep down her blood pressure and has not been able to taste test Bluebell's summer flavor Candy Jar. Discouragement is mad at her mother for being a saboteur and not an encourager. Oh, Discouragement is ugly.
Right now, I need a miracle. Not Jenny Craig, not Nutrisystem, just a good old fashioned miracle.
So, I'm going to turn this whole thing over to a Higher Power. I can do this, I will do this.
Resolved: Eat Even Less. Move Even More.
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