The Queen of Dessert has traded in her crown for a pair of 10-pound weights- and she isn't trying to eat them, she's like, doing curls and stuff. It's wild.
For the past two months, I've worked out at least 5 times a week, I've gone to 5 Weight Watchers meetings, and I have eaten foods that can't be gotten at the drive-thru or the bakery.
I don't even want to complain about it, either.
That sentence, typed by my fingers, surely must be a sign of the apocalypse. I complain about ALL THE THINGS, ALL THE TIME. What gives?
I feel good. That's what gives. Admittedly, it isn't the kind of good that comes from Dolly Madison or Famous Dave, it's a different kind of good. The kind of good that makes me glad that it hurts to turn sideways and zip up my side-zip pants- the hurt reminds me of all the push-ups I did yesterday. I'm even glad that the pants that hurt to zip are almost too loose to wear- they remind me of all the Oreos I didn't eat.
I'm anticipating all kinds of bumps along this new road I'm taking- and I've even had some already. Friday night, Brad Pitt as Achilles sweet talked me into eating all kinds of Twizzlers, and then took me out for a peach margarita after that. There I was- drunk, starving, totally out of Points and lusting after a Greek Myth. Proof that this new me ain't always gonna feel so good.
Still- it's different now. I'm not doing this to fit into a dress, or to shock folks that I haven't seen in a long time with my new self. I just want to live this way. Without thinking of the end result. I don't even want an "end result." I don't want to ever "end" this program. For the first time in a really long time, I feel like I am doing the best that I can.
It is so surprising. In the best possible way.