I’m at it again. Every so often I get tired of being chunky and vow earnestly to do something about it. I dive into calorie-counting and get militant about portion sizes for a few weeks and then I inevitably come crawling back to carbs and fried things like the whimpering sloth I am.
I’m hoping this time is different. It may be, if only because I’m trying my best to throw exercise in the mix even though everything in my being begs me to remain sedentary. There’s something exciting about logging in your calories, then remembering that half hour speed-walk and watching your remaining “allotments” jump up, allowing for a few of those Girl Scout Cookies that have been staring at you lasciviously from atop the microwave. It’s a novel idea, really. If I move around a little throughout the day I can eat something that I crave. Sounds easy, right? Wrong.
My chosen exercise at the moment is brisk walking. If this sounds like something your grandma does on the reg, you’re right. I’m literally going from zero physical activity to trying to lose pounds, so it’s all I can muster. I have an internal struggle to get myself to put on athletic shoes (the ones I only just purchased, because why would I have them already?) and leave the house once I’ve already sat down. There are so many times throughout the half hour and 2.2 miles that I want to throw in the sweaty, sweaty towel and just lay down in the middle of the street. But I haven’t. Either time. Yes, it’s only been twice so far. But it’s my first week! Give me a break.
I just did a more leisurely stroll with one of my best gal pals, and my face is beet-red and blotchy. My chest burns and my legs may not allow me to get up the stairs and into the shower in a few minutes. We walked only three miles and it took us an hour, but dammit if Heritage Hill and downtown aren’t at least half up-hill battles. My bum hurts. And I have a personal vendetta against Cherry Street heading back toward HH from downtown. And also Fulton, for that matter. How dare you? Can’t you see I’m dying?
The good news, is that with a little imagination and some slight exaggeration we were able to log in enough cardio to put us ahead in our allotted calories for the day. And that’s good news because we’re heading to a wedding this evening and “cocktail hour” has the potential to send me into hors d’oeuvres hell.
Wish me luck, blogosphere. It’s a warzone out there.