This morning, my daughter was late for the bus. She isn't the most active of kids, and she has a small injury, so it was up to Mom to run up the hill and make small talk with the driver until she made it to the bus. (Alternately, I could have driven her 25 minutes to school, but I figured this was a better choice.)
I could barely run up that hill. It was so hard, which is depressing. This time last year, I was very slowly training for a 5K and making good progress. I had lost 25 pounds, was eating great, and was so happy with myself. I truly envisioned that this was a life change that I was going to sustain.
And then winter came, and I stopped running. I was still maintaining my weight loss, but not progressing. I was OK with that. Then my dear husband came home and it all fell apart. I've gained back all the weight, and I'm an exhausted couch potato slob again. None of my clothes fit because I don't want to buy new bigger sizes. I'm unhappy, and I'm stressed, which is exactly when my body decides to hold on to every last pound.
This run up the hill was a good wake-up call for me. I must get moving and get things back to good. I could really use some encouragement and accountability. Anyone out there want to check in on me, and I'll check in on you, too, if you want. Together, we can do this.