December 7. 2012:
Hit a new personal best. Down to 241.6. Whoot!
Then came my birthday. Christmas. New Years. Paul’s Birthday.
Fun? You bet: Cake. Ice cream. Tamales. Chocolate. Welsh Rabbit. Won Tons. Pan Dulce. Caramels. Chips & Queso. Pumpkin Bread. Carmel Corn. Iced Sugar Cookies. Candy Apples. Mashed Potatoes. Donuts. I even had a glass of wine.
But I ran 2 5Ks. Worked out a LOT. Ate really well most days.
My stated goal was to maintain, not gain. I didn’t expect a big loss.
January 8, 2013:
Hit the scale at 241.2.
I should be all “Whoo hoo! I rock! I did it!”
I want to. But I’m not.
I admit it. I’m disappointed.
Intellectually, I know I should be content with where I am. I know that if I had weighed in last week, I’d have logged a gain, not a loss. A teensy tiny loss.
It’s my Ugly Secret Self.
I wasn’t going to tell you about her.
I love the affirmation I get from you guys. I love to hear about how you decided to try a new exercise or run a 5K because I did it. I love being a positive role model.
But I have to be honest. Ugly Secret Self is still here.
She’s the dirty part of me that says “Sure you want healthy blood, strong muscles and great endurance, but what you REALLY want is flat abs and porn-star tits. You wanna look good naked.”
Then she says “. . .face it fatty, even if you got down to 125 lbs, you still won’t look good. You’ll still have that spotty red skin and those pathetic man-boobs. Your nose will still be too long and your chin too pointy and your hair? Please.”
Ugly Secret Self is the one who says “You know what would totally make you feel better? Chewy Caramels. Ice Cream. You’ve done really well, so go ahead and have some. . . .there ya go. . . now a little more. . . a little more. . . oh, you feel sick now? Maybe it’s because you have no self control. Tsk tsk, you were doing so well too. . . “
I hate Ugly Secret Self! But sometimes. . . .I believe her.
Ugly Secret Self is the reason why managing obesity is more than a matter of diet and exercise.
The hardest part of getting fit is getting that bitch to shut up.