I'll confess right off the bat: I am a second-go-rounder. I lost lots of weight last year on South Beach. But after some personal dramarama (details later), I bellyflopped right off the wagon into an endless vat of chocolate, sugary goodness, specifically that of the Twix variety.
And it wasn't until this past Saturday, when I looked in the mirror before my cousin's wedding and saw my tomato face and my once-again-lumpy arms sticking out from the cap sleeves of my beautiful gown, that I realized the truth: I had allowed myself to fail. My body hadn't let me down. I had let *myself* down. I had returned to all my old habits -- eating crap, not exercising, feeling gross and negative -- while believing/deluding myself that my 35 pounds thinner body wouldn't let itself gain weight. I brushed off my listlessness and disinterest in doing things as PMS, lack of sleep, stress ... Ebola ... anything but admitting the truth.
But realization, as they say, is the first step towards recovery. And since I had made failure an option before, I knew what my new screen name had to be. This time, I cannot allow myself to fail. I have no choice. I *have* to be healthy to live how I want to live. I have to be healthy to have the confidence to follow my dreams. I'm tired of being jealous of my skinny cousins, of my successful brother, of people who at least *try*. I'm tired of sitting on the sidelines and wondering why life seems to be passing me by.
It's time for me to take risks, face facts, embrace cliches, and actually make this lifestyle change work.
Monday, June 23, 2008
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