Tonight I feel ill. I feel bloated and dehydrated and nauseated.
I've eaten almost an entire bag of sour cream and onion potato chips and a piece of key lime pie and two big cans of Strongbow. I've had just a sip of water all day. I've sat on the couch, festering and wallowing like a lazy lump. I feel hot and sweaty and foul.
And this is how it is most days now. And I don't want it to be.
I remember life just two years ago. When I ate healthy and worked out. When I weighed fifty pounds less than I do now. When I felt like I could do anything.
The irony is that life is pretty great now. Except for my weight, and my eating and health habits. A good friend pointed this out the other day. She said, "Isn't it funny that everything in your life is going great, probably better than it's ever been, and suddenly you're struggling with weight again?" Yes, funny.
She was right though, and I've been thinking about that. Everything is great right now: I love my house, my dog, my job, my husband-to-be. There is nothing I would change.
Except this one thing. Except the weight. The way I feel.
I'm blogging this now because I want to remember it. I want it to serve as a reminder. I have a plan now. I have a goal. I've been mulling it over for a couple of months now, but it finally feels like the time is right. The time is now.
I'll blog more about my goals and plans tomorrow, after I've had a chance to weigh myself and see where I'm starting from.