On me getting skinny that is. Or healthy, let’s go with healthy. Some of you already know that I made a promise to treat my body with the respect that it actually deserves and not treat it with the McDonald’s dollar menu that it wants anymore and since I haven’t filled you in in a while, I figured now is the perfect time.
This morning was the first (yes, you read that right) morning I have been at the gym in 2 weeks. I know, I know. It started out innocent enough; I don’t go to the gym on the weekends. No, instead I reserve that for sleeping in past 7 and cleaning the house, grocery shopping, laundry and reading. So the Monday that I should have gotten up at 5, well that didn’t happen. I never set my alarm. I had my gym back packed and ready and I never set the alarm. So I slept in. The following Tuesday, my sister had told me she wasn’t going because my nephew was having surgery and then Wednesday rolled around and that is the designated day to be off! Well, I wrongfully assumed that no one was going to the gym, so again, I snoozed in. I have no idea what happened that Thursday and that Friday I was off work so there was no way in God’s green earth I was going to get up early and pump iron when I could instead sleep. This past week though? No clue what happened. I just didn’t go. Maybe I got really lazy. Maybe my body was enjoying the whole “sleeping until 6:30 instead of 5 A.M” thing I had going on. The world will never know.
That said, I went back this morning and
good Lord almighty Jesus up in the great Heavens it was something else. I made the mistake of eating an apple this morning on the drive and it didn’t sit well in my tummy. Every time I lifted my weights, I thought it would make its grand appearance. Thankfully for everyone there, it never did. This morning was a little brutal tough, and I wanted to say “F you, you stupid miserable gym!”, but I am trying to clean up my language so instead I said, “You are the worst.” and lifted my weights regardless.
Getting healthy is really insanely hard. I wish I could tell you that I was having the absolute time of my life and I loved every second I’ve spent running and lifting and squatting but that would be such a damn lie. And frankly, I am not very good at lying either (Unless I am playing UNO, cause I am a straight thug at that game). No, I hate this. I detest this. I would rather get my fingernails plucked out of my hand (that might be a tad dramatic…), but I will continue to go because I al just running out of excuses on why I can’t go to the gym. And I hate having to size up in my clothes so my dress pants can fit around my waist but not my bootylicious bum. I hate trying to find dresses that hang loosely on my tummy, and jeans that can be pulled up over my fat roll when I sit down. I am tired of feeling envious when I see ladies who have a smooth tummy and nice legs. I could be that person, if I work hard enough.
I don’t think I will ever have Victoria’s Secret calling me up to rep them in a show (but if you want too, I will totally accept) but being happy with myself is worth it.