It seems whenever there is any concerted effort made by moi, there is always a wagon involved and it’s usually just around the nearest corner. I’ve been so involved in getting my heart rate down, the fat off, my blood pressure down, my chest pains lessened, my BMI down, things all cleaned up and tidy, and had actually been seeing pretty regular progress. Fifteen pounds of regular progress. But, about two weeks ago I came to a dead standstill on the scale. Granted [gee, this might be the key] whereas I had been going to the gym 5-6 days a week, I kind of gradually slowed down to more like 3-4 days a week. I’d always promise myself I’d do something “when I got home” — haul out the dumbbells or do 100 sit-ups and 100 push-ups. Usually never happened, or if I’d finally get started, I’d only do 25 of each. Ugh.
So I thought I’d feel sorry for myself. Or maybe I thought I’d reward myself. I don’t know. It gets fuzzy for me why I actually do things. Why I sabotage or destroy my progress. Anyway. I’ve been eating and sneaking and really messing myself up. I feel like crap. I’ve had sugar and junk and I’ve eaten when I wasn’t even hungry. I’ve gone to bed with food rolling around my stomach all night long. I’m entering that recurring nightmare phase when I think about food first thing in the morning and last thing at night. Food is starting to consume every thought. And I hate it! I don’t know how to get back to the good place I was.
If I can just get through today.