Tomorrow is September 1st. Although summer doesn’t technically end for about 3 weeks, I think that September 1 always seems like the symbolic end of summer.
I am frustrated. I really and truly believed that it was the winter that killed me as far as my weight goes. Summer was going to be my saving grace. And? Not so much. I am just as porked up as I was mid winter.
To make matters worse, I told you guys about the nutso thing in my head regarding my running? Well Monday night I was exactly 3.15 miles into my treadmill run when the sucker just turned off. Gave up. Said NO MORE.
Marc tried troubleshooting it with no luck. It’s probably just a faulty electronic part or a transformer. It has around 4200 miles on it and is 6 years old. When I bought it, I never imagined the amount of use it would get. It was not a cheapo model, but it also wasn’t really designed for 2 full sized humans and 2 dogs to use all the time. So we could have had someone come out and look at it, but decided it probably wasn’t worth it.
So the INTELLIGENT thing to do would be for me to get my ass OUTSIDE and run. But nooooo.... instead I spent time Monday night exhaustively researching the best bang for the buck in the world of treadmills and found myself not exercising but instead at Dick’s during my lunch hour yesterday trying out some treadmills. And then, after work, going to buy one.
Which is why we ended up eating dinner at 7:30 PM and was also why I found myself - exhausted and pissy - lifting weights while watching America’s Got Talent at 9:00 PM.
So I’m not making much progress, am I? White knuckling it is what they say in Alcoholics Anonymous.
The good in my life? Chakotay is still hanging in there. The prednisone is keeping the cancer mostly at bay. We are on borrowed and precious time and I feel that we have been luckier than most - statistically speaking. That is truly a blessing.
And today? Well, in the world of this fat chick, a small miracle. It was a co-worker’s birthday and I stuck my head in her office to wish her happy birthday and there was - lo and behold - CAKE. Store bought cake, but CAAAAKKKKEEE. She asked me if I wanted a piece and I hesitated only about 4 seconds before saying no. And I found that I actually didn’t want a piece. Ok, well I’m a fat girl and I wanted a piece, but I didn’t really WANT a piece.
Does that make any sense? I didn’t feel deprived or sorry for myself or resentful, I just didn’t want a piece. For most normal humans declining a piece of cake and actually not wanting one is NOT a big fucking deal at all. But for ME??? Well, no pigs flew by my windows this afternoon but it was CLOSE.
So there you go. I’m hanging in there. It might be by my fingertips but I am. I won’t fool myself into thinking “OH! IT’S FALL that will save me.” It doesn’t matter the day of the week, the time of year, what stress I have, whether there is a treadmill in my basement, whether the Dolphins win or lose, or anything else other than me making a CHOICE to stop eating so much. Period. Funny how that works, right?