Alright, so I stepped on the scale this morning. This is what I saw.
Since I play with graphs all day and I think they best summarize a quantifying comparitive situation (as mine is rt now) I figured just as well add some fun into this “work” that I am going through. Not bad, though it could just be water that am losing. Coz, the measurements remained the same. Strange, considering at one point in time all I had to do was 2 days of aerobics for 20 minutes and a set of weights and I’d lose a couple of inches all over. This pretty much has killed all fun in growing up, which in itself is a bore and a pain. *sigh.
I suppose I must write on the primary reason I got onto this countdown business. It isn’t really the stage-and -looking-good-vain thing. That just happens to be the more fluffy perk.
The more valid serious reasons:
1. Strong history of diabetes on my mom’s side of the family.
2. Also, am pushing the lag end of 30. My physician gave me a stern look recently as I have gained some “stress-weight” over the Spring and Summer.
3. I need to get back to dancing the way I used to.
Ultimately, it is a health issue. I’d rather be on the close to lower end of the range than on the border. I have never ever been a slave to the numbers. As in weighing scale numbers. Fortunately all these years, I looked lighter than I weighed. Up until the time (which is now) the insides matter more than the look. So why now? Why the rush? It had to be done sometime, and unless I pressure myself into starting it, I know I wouldn’t have embarked on this project. That’s precisely what it is, a project. Projects get done best with deadlines, diligence and milestones. I work best with deadlines.
I am in my normal stage a lazy being. I really am. I can sit on this chair and spend close to 3-4 hours just browsing and doing stuff. I cannot afford to be lazy for various reasons and as they say, environment has a way of messing with ones genes. So, that’s pretty much how I got messed up into this energizer bunny mode that people think is my default. It is in a freak sub-conscious way I guess… So yes, while growing up, I had my dad to push me around, do stuff and get things done. All I need is a little stern talk, and support to cajole/bribe/threaten me into getting started. Once on a track, I usually move steadily. Yes, just like the bovine carts back home.
Now that am an adult and responsible for myself, I have to do it all my myself. Sucks, but that’s the truth. The husband’s a dear man. He lets me be. He gives me more credit than I deserve. I throw a fit, and he’d calmly refute all complaints by teasing me and saying “…but you know it all, and moreover you are just fine, slightly motu, but if you reduce whom will I call ‘moturam‘ ?” I whine even more and he’d come back and say with a very serious face “Think healthy, not sizes” and disappear. Sure! Like I don’t know that?!
The catch being, some lesser determined folks need to be reminded of it. Sometimes once a day, sometimes a few times a day, until it becomes de facto. Just like my menu planning and execution has over the years.
So where was I? Yeah, the visual part of losing weight. It’s the icing on the cake. *a little strange using food but works.* Ultimately I need to fit back into those awesome jeans that hang in my closet.
ONLY a woman will understand that. Right?