If you've been around a while, you might remember that I spent a big chunk of my husband's deployment trying to lose some weight, and I was successful. I lost a good solid 25 pounds, and some days it was as much as 30. I hovered between those two weights for the last few months of his absence, as the winter set in and I stopped running outside, plus I stopped tracking my weight and my food intake. I was actually relieved that I didn't gain a ton back as soon as I stopped being "good."
The big return day was at the beginning of February, so he has been home for two and a half months. My clothes have been fitting a little tighter, and I am less and less happy when I look in the mirror. I've hopped on the scale a few times, quickly disregarded the number, and went on my merry little way. No big deal...what's a few pounds? I can lose that quickly, just as soon as I start being more careful what I eat, and exercising a little. Right?
The best intentions often produce no results without some sort of catalyst for action, and a plan. I stepped on the scale this morning and discovered that I'm less than one pound away from a big symbolic number that I don't want to see on my scale. Plus, some quick math proved that I've gained at least 10 pounds in the last two and half months. Something must be done.
I've pulled out my journal and tape measure, and logged back into my online fitness site. (Love it!) I went for a run today (back to week two of Couch to 5K) and I'm drinking water right now. (No more food until I finish this litre of water.) It seems that the time for excuses is over, and I've got to get back to work.
If you're on a mission as well, feel free to join me (and airforcewife, and Marine Wife) on this little journey called fitness.