Wednesday, January 12, 2011

The Dreaded Gym Membership

So joined the local gym today. They, of course, had a new year special going and I get a student discount. No reason not to join since my son is in school 1/2 day. No reason not to go after I drop him off everyday. No excuses left not to go and get right.

I love myself just not the packaging. On Christmas Day I saw a true reflection in a mirror that made me so disgusted with my naked body I cried. I finally saw it without my blinders on. I hate it. I don't love any part of it like I used to. Even when I've said I hated some part of my body (usually my fat knees or my big feet), I've had a part that I loved to compensate for the dislike of those other parts. Not this time. I hate it all except my eyes and mouth. Last year some older boys mooed at me in a grocery store and it hurt, but not enough to motivate me. Now I've reached the point that I need and want to change how I feel.  How I look. Everything. I have to.

I could blame the weight gain on quitting smoking, no gallbladder, stress, pregnancy, single parenthood, or whatever. I'd be lying. It was poor choices and sitting on my ass all day in front of a computer. I currently sit at 227 & I'm 5'6". I'm disgusted that I'm firmly in the 200's where I said I would never go.  I'm going to change that even though it's going to be really hard. I really dislike things that don't come easy to me.  I like the easy, efficient, fast way to do things. Exercise, weight loss, and healthy living are none of those things - at first.

I truly hate working out. I hate getting sweaty. I hate the blotchy, itchy mess I become when I sweat. But I hate possibly dying early even more. Even worse, I hate not feeling cute. I miss feeling confident in my clothes instead of hiding the 'bad' parts in them.

So I joined the gym today. Tomorrow I start working out even though my head is still a little congested. Slow and steady I will tell myself when I'm gasping for air on the treadmill. The fast and easy way isn't going to work this time. Like my son says all the time, "It's not a race mom."

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