Life is short...my blood pressure is what?
I haven't been thin since before I could spell thin. It's not that I am horrendously over weight, but there have been days when I have felt as if the rear end of me might benefit from the employment of those fabulous gentlemen at the airports who guide airplanes into the gate. You know, the ones with the little flashlights, earphones, and bright yellow vests? They would be ever so helpful after I have shame-spiraled my way through an all-you-can-eat buffet like a plague of locust during an apocalypse.
That being said, I have decided to make a life change.
I have joined a cult. No, I mean I have joined a program. Freudian slip... That felt awkward.
It requires me to exercise daily and eat healthy, two things that I have aspired to over the years but, generally speaking, didn't exactly commit too much focus to on a day to day basis. I blame fast food, my total inability to follow through on things, and anything that requires me to eat an abundant amount of lettuce.
My old philosophy was 'life is short; have fun'. My new philosophy is 'life is short, and my blood pressure is what?'
I guess you could say, I am at the crossroad of life. Too old to look like the ripped girls in the fitness magazines and too young to make those grunting noises I do when I get out of bed in the morning.
The time has come for me to show some gumption and woman up. I am on day three. I have completed all the required workouts and eaten clean... Not including yesterday, which may or may not have involved the ingesting of a cheeseburger and onion rings. I believe things that are shaped like zeroes actually stand for how many calories they can contain. I also closed my eyes as I ate and I am pretty sure that cancels out the carbs. These of course are mere theories and have not been tested in a laboratory setting.
It's a process; don't judge.
The first step is acknowledging there is a problem and that we are powerless against it. Oh wait, maybe that’s another program? I don’t know, I'm just so hungry. I think I smell chocolate. Is that a sign that I’m having a seizure? No worries. I just Googled it, and it's burnt toast and a stroke. Oh, toast. I just love toast.
I think I need an intervention. This might be beyond me.
Don’t worry, I got this. However, in the event you see me during the next 57 days flirting shamelessly with a pizza smothered in cheese and extra pepperoni.....wait, what just happened?..... I think I just blacked out..... Where was I?
Oh yes, if you happen to see me in a compromising food position, please do not out me. I do not claim to be perfect and I recognize the fact that I am just one elastic waistband away from shopping for fashionable circus tent attire. It's just that I am, after all, just a work in progress. Rome wasn’t sculpted in 60 days so it’s pretty likely that I too will require a tiny bit of overtime.
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