My goal is to lose 100 lbs and be fit and healthy and hopefully a trail runner by my 50th birthday.
I'm 47 now, so that should be easily achievable, should it not? Sure....if I'd stop fucking it up with my detours and pit stops.
Let's take this past weekend, for instance. I came home from work early on Thursday not feeling well, like I had a rotten summer cold coming on. That kicked off a "fuck it, I'm sick, I'll eat what I want" spree....vodka drinks, chocolate ice cream (each night for three nights in a row), pizza, fried food.....dafuq? I don't really understand now how I thought that would make things any better. In fact, I'm home from work again because I feel like shit, for a whole different set of symptoms, mainly related to my stomach. Hmmm, wonder why? (though I'm thinking it could be a stomach virus)
That kind of thinking is what got me fat and miserable to begin with and I simply forgot it for a few days. Simply.....but is it so simple? I don't think so.
I know it's going to take practice and repetition and consistency to get me to where my thinking around food no longer includes making excuses to eat like shit. I was doing ok there for a while, and then fell back into the old "fuckitall" trap. *sigh*
Time to extricate myself from that trap, and move on, limping along, trying to recover from my fumble. And I will, I know. Just a minor setback. No reason to throw it all away and give up. I can't give up this time. I won't. I refuse to turn fifty in three years looking and feeling the way I do now. I will be fitter, trimmer, healthier and damn proud of myself for coming as far as I have. And I'll get there by forgiving myself for these transgressions (but not allowing myself permission to repeat them so easily). I will, somehow, get past the occasional case of the fuckitalls, and will win my goal. I have to. I have no choice, because I refuse to suffer later in life because I gave up on myself simply for the momentary "pleasure" of eating and drinking shit that doesn't benefit me in any way shape or form.
Let's take this past weekend, for instance. I came home from work early on Thursday not feeling well, like I had a rotten summer cold coming on. That kicked off a "fuck it, I'm sick, I'll eat what I want" spree....vodka drinks, chocolate ice cream (each night for three nights in a row), pizza, fried food.....dafuq? I don't really understand now how I thought that would make things any better. In fact, I'm home from work again because I feel like shit, for a whole different set of symptoms, mainly related to my stomach. Hmmm, wonder why? (though I'm thinking it could be a stomach virus)
That kind of thinking is what got me fat and miserable to begin with and I simply forgot it for a few days. Simply.....but is it so simple? I don't think so.
I know it's going to take practice and repetition and consistency to get me to where my thinking around food no longer includes making excuses to eat like shit. I was doing ok there for a while, and then fell back into the old "fuckitall" trap. *sigh*
Time to extricate myself from that trap, and move on, limping along, trying to recover from my fumble. And I will, I know. Just a minor setback. No reason to throw it all away and give up. I can't give up this time. I won't. I refuse to turn fifty in three years looking and feeling the way I do now. I will be fitter, trimmer, healthier and damn proud of myself for coming as far as I have. And I'll get there by forgiving myself for these transgressions (but not allowing myself permission to repeat them so easily). I will, somehow, get past the occasional case of the fuckitalls, and will win my goal. I have to. I have no choice, because I refuse to suffer later in life because I gave up on myself simply for the momentary "pleasure" of eating and drinking shit that doesn't benefit me in any way shape or form.
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