One year
March 2006 compared to March 2007:
My knees no longer hurt.
Neither does my back.
My stomach doesn't give me as much trouble as it always did.
I can see and feel real, honest-to-God muscles in my arms and legs.
My double chin is receding.
I can run for a mile without stopping or feeling like a heart attack is imminent.
I don't get out of breath walking to my car.
Or going up stairs.
Or carrying grocery bags to my apartment.
I'm losing my taste for meat.
I've lost my taste for soda--diet or otherwise.
Ben and Jerry's is no longer a regular part of my PMS routine.
I'm sleeping better.
I'm starting to feel--horror of horrors--healthy.
I tell myself all this because, I swear, trying to lose weight is like having a second fucking job. I can't see a difference where it counts most--namely, my clothes and my weight--so I'm trying to focus on the changes I can see. I know this is a good thing I'm doing, but it's incredibly fucking hard at the moment, when all I want to do is get some ice cream, some chips, and a Pepsi and veg out on the couch.
But instead, if anyone needs me, I'll be at the gym.
Goddammit.
I tell myself all this because, I swear, trying to lose weight is like having a second fucking job. I can't see a difference where it counts most--namely, my clothes and my weight--so I'm trying to focus on the changes I can see. I know this is a good thing I'm doing, but it's incredibly fucking hard at the moment, when all I want to do is get some ice cream, some chips, and a Pepsi and veg out on the couch.
But instead, if anyone needs me, I'll be at the gym.
Goddammit.