Like millions of other people, this year I decided that I am going to lose weight. I have to. I weigh more now than I ever have in my life. My pants barely fit…hell let’s be honest, 1 pair fits and I have about 15 in my closet. My shirts look awful. I have a closet full of clothes that don’t fit. I huff and puff walking into work with my laptop bag. I huff and puff walking up the stairs. I huff and puff doing just about everything.
And yet…my husband tells me how beautiful I am. How he loves my curves.
Why is it that my ex got me at my physical best and my current husband, who is the most wonderful, perfect-for-me man in the whole universe, gets this? This lump. This chunk-a-lunk. He freaked out because he hit 202. I thought, “What I wouldn’t give to be at 202.”
So.
That is what got me motivated.
A PR in weight.
The last PR I want to make on the upward end of this situation. The lowest I recall being is 170. So that’s the goal. Eating less, moving more. I know HOW to do it. I just need TO do it. I'm wishing MYSELF luck. I CAN do this. I can lose this weight. I can be a healthier version of myself. I WILL be a healthier version of myself.
I owe it to R.
to his children
to my "glimmer" child
and most importantly
I owe it to myself.
Bye, bye PR! I'm glad to see you go. I will be successful. I will NOT see that number on the scale ever again.
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