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After last week's pity party, I thought I might hop back on the work-out train and step up my eating. Well, I only did half of that. My food intake has been pretty good, minus the three Sonic milkshakes over the weekend (they were half off!), but I cannot seem to get myself motivated to move my body. Honestly, that has always been my biggest challenge.
I don't like to get sweaty.
I don't like to be sore.
I don't like to wear shoes. or socks.
I've been this way since I was young. I don't know why. I'm majoring in psychology (and minoring in English) when I start school next week, so maybe I'll figure that out. I'm just a lazy person, when it comes to physical activity. There, I said it.
I tell myself over and over how good it is for me to just take a walk, do some squats, or attempt to follow the yoga DVD. And when I was doing it, I think I felt better. What sucks though, is I think I am sabotaging myself. I'm not ridiculously unhappy in my skin and my husband loves me the way I am. Why change a good thing, right? I've reached a pudgy comfort zone and I'm scared to leave it.
All the money I'll have to spend to buy new clothes (and waste, getting rid of my old ones).
Will the clothes fit me like I hope they will?
Will I have gross amounts of extra skin? Or will it tighten back up?
Will my husband like my new body? Will I?
Will I feel like the same person on the inside?
All of these uncertainties fill my brain. I don't like not knowing what will happen, how I'll feel. I've never felt skinny, even when I was. It's been a fight, ever since I can remember. I have always been the heavy one in my group of friends and in my family. Jiggly thighs, pudgy belly, and two chins. It's all I know.
As I sit here thinking, I want to put my shoes on and go for a walk. I say that to myself often. Then I remember something I just have to do first, and it never actually happens. I'm stalling, now, as I try to wrap up this post. The cycle continues...