Three weeks ago, I hated the treadmill and vowed to stay away from it until after Easter. Follow that with two weeks of weight training and a few inches lost and a new decade of numbers.
Then I got three and a half hours of sleep following a late night field trip with Matthew for band and gave myself the day off the next day.
And this week the boys have been on Spring break. And it snowed; no kidding. And I didn't work out this week at all.
I got on the scale eleven billion times.
Nine days from my last workout, this is what I've gleaned about having lost thirty pounds but having thirty more to lose.
Excuses not to exercise are prevalent every single day. Motherhood, my part-time job, the pain my body experiences almost every day, my responsibilities at church, everything can be an excuse if I make it one.
And I have. For the last nine days.
Even the busy-ness of the upcoming Easter holiday is an excuse. And as I sit here writing this post, I know that I just need to quit writing, change clothes and get on the treadmill already.
My body needs the exercise. I've learned that I can't just eat well for nine days and expect to see results on the scale. It didn't cut it. In fact, I'm up two pounds since my last weigh-in almost two weeks ago.
I can't go back to 165, let alone 191. I just can't.
Now, I can promise you that I'm not in the frame of mind that what I'm doing is a failure if I grant myself a day off from exercise. I just need to get back to where I never take more than two days off in a row. That seems to work the best.
I'm eating my veggies and fruits and eating less processed and more whole foods. And that's really the only thing that's been keeping my head even half in the game at this point.
But all is not lost. I'm determined to never see 165 again.
Time for the treadmill.