Four years ago I started to lose weight. I started at a time when I thought all hope was lost. I really, truly did not believe I could do it.
But I did.
60 lbs later I felt fantastic. I exercised often and I enjoyed it. My closet was no longer a place I loathed but a place I loved.
And then I met Dave and went out a lot and didn’t quite care that I didn’t order the salad anymore.
And then, my father died. And I didn’t quite care what I ate.
And then, I got pregnant.
And then I had this guy.
And here we are.
I’m back…again. I’m starting with just exercising more regularly. I just re-started the Couch 2 5K. I feel like I need to start exercising first and then I can focus on eating. As it is these days I leave a half full plate at meals because someone needs my attention.
I weighed less the few weeks after I had Ryan than I currently do and that’s the thing that makes me most upset about all this. But just as I felt when I was single – that you can’t complain about not being with someone if you don’t actively try to find them – you can’t lose weight by sitting on your ass and stuffing your face.
So – at the very least – I’m going to get up and stop eating so much.
We’ll see how it goes.