This, of course, has not done much for my pursuit of improving my body in other ways – i.e. exercise and weight loss.  First off, doctor’s appointments take up time I could be spending working out. As it stands, I won’t get to the gym this week until Thursday, which is ridiculous.  I guess I need to start using my home treadmill in the morning. It’s annoying that the pain drugs make me dopey in the morning, but if I turn on a light then I generally can get functioning. 

A week from Saturday I am meeting up with a group of generally thin women at a plush spa in Wisconsin for our annual girl’s weekend.  The idea of being bathing suit clad makes me break out in hives.  In about 6 weeks I’ll be visiting my folks in Florida for a whole week.  Lord help me.  Maybe panic will get me out of bed tomorrow morning?

It is hard for me to believe that we have been married for 7 years.  That seems like a mighty hefty chunk of time.  We met nearly 8 years ago – on Valentines Day, 1999.  We were both guests at my “Gay-Husband’s” (GH) birthday party.  I had a cold on that day too, come to think of it.  I almost didn’t go to the party because of it.  I couldn’t get my contact lenses in so I wore my glasses.  I decided that even though I was a little sick, I might as well go to the party and get my mind off of it, rather than sit around the house.

The party was at a restaurant in Lincoln Park called “My Pie”.  There were about 20 guests, all of whom were already seated.  I apparently had the time wrong and so I was nearly an hour late.  GH called me a dumb bitch, gave me a kiss and sat me down next to him.  Across from us sat a man I had never seen before.  He was attractive in that married-guy kind of way.  Red button down broadcloth shirt, jeans, conservative hair.  I looked at him and thought to my self “That guy looks like exactly the kind of guy I’d like to be married to. It figures that he’s already taken”.   He was seated next to a pretty girl, who I assumed was his girlfriend.

Dinner progressed with pizza and beer.  As the party was getting ready to shift over to “Side Tracks” – a gay bar in Boys Town – I quickly downed a little more cold medicine right out of the bottle.  This caught the attention of the cute husband type across from me.  “Don’t you like to measure it first?” he asked.  To which I replied “I think I know what 2 tablespoons feels like in my mouth”.  I swear I didn’t mean that to sound as dirty as it did, but since it was out there I ran with it.   Cute husband type raised his eyebrows and laughed and proceeded to get up from the table as everyone was fixing to leave.

So as everyone was planning the drive over to Side Tracked, the pretty girl who had been sitting next to Cute Husband Type left.  Clearly she was not Cute Husband Type’s girlfriend. He was single!!! Fast forward 3 hours and several more beers later, and Cute Husband Type and I were smooching.  In a gay bar.  (Very uncool).  We were engaged 3 months later and married 7 months after that. 

He’s a great husband.  A wonderful father.  He has his quirks and he’s not perfect, but he’s my partner in crime and I love him dearly.

That said, the food thing…oy.  I am having the hardest time with this. I start out strong and as the day goes on it gets harder and harder to keep crap out of my mouth!  I am certainly doing better than before I resolved to get this weight under control.  However, truth be told, I was completely out of control.  I guess I should be glad that there is, at least, a modicum of control now.  I’m such an all-or-nothing person that “pretty good” is hard for me. (I have had a fair amount of therapy regarding this.  Other things too, but the all-or-nothing thing is definitely a tough spot).

I refuse to give up, but every time I pop a cracker in my mouth that isn’t part of the “prescribed” plan, I feel simultaniously soothed and defeated.  One would think that I could stop and say to myself, “Self…this isn’t going to make you feel better in the long run” and run far far away.  Again, lots of therapy, but we are still working on this one.

I can make all sorts of excuses, of course. I’m not going to bother, for the moment because blah blah blah. Everyone has stress.  If we don’t have stress we are pretty much dead.  I have to realize that this is a process and the fact that I am making positive changes is as much of a victory as doing everything perfectly.  (I don’t believe this, of course, but I know that I should).

I need to lose many pounds.  It’s not even about vanity anymore, although I certainly am sick to death of what I see when I look in the mirror.  My back is in spasms. I am realizing that my poor body can’t carry the load I’m requiring of it.  I am so sick of seeing doctors and taking pain medication that it drives me to tears.  I can’t keep up with my kids who keep getting bigger and heavier and stronger and harder to catch with each passing month. 

 I do not have enough muscle mass and my BMI is off the charts.  My workout routine has dwindled from daily to a half-hearted one-a-week. 

 I’ve got to keep it simple.  I always start out gangbusters and then fall apart.  And I have to keep my short term goal in mind which is spring vacation 2 months from now.  I’d really like to have 25 pounds off by then and be in better shape.