According to the BMI, I need to lose so much weight that I might as well just check myself into Baylor and ask them to put me in a medically induced coma for three months. The BMI has no idea that when I am mid-range of their scale, I look malnourished. It’s okay. They don’t know that my bone structure is that of a Clydesdale.
According to the trainer guy at my gym, his pincers, scale, chart, and tape measure (eeyaugh!), I should lose 46lbs to be at my optimal weight. I like his better. I don’t like jagged edges, though, so I’m going to clean that 46 down to 40 and work toward that goal. Then, when I am with women who are complaining about their weight, I won’t make them feel inferior with my perfection. I can still agree, “I know. Supposedly, I should weigh 6lbs less to be my physical best. It is so hard being me!”
See, I’ve got 20 to get back to where I was this time last year, when I got laid off and started eating at Sonic every day. Sonic is made of crack cocaine. It is evil. And maxi dresses are so forgiving. It was like I was eating the devil and wearing an angel.
I have yo-yo’ed for a full year now, finally gaining back into my red light territory. It’s exhausting. I can either quit and resign myself to a life of caftans and tater tots, or I can pick myself up again and work at my fitness. Since the best thing about life is that you get to start over again every morning, and since I have a gym membership, I’m rebuking the tater tots in the name of Jebus and resisting the lure of the elastic waistband.
I’m not turning this blog into a weight loss diary, and have decided not to post my weight as I’ve done before. If it’s that important, you’re welcome to look me up on thedailyplate.com and friend me there. I will be keeping a tally of my goal here. I am working toward a 40lbs weight loss in 52 weeks.
I figured out that I can do at least 30 minutes in the gym on my lunch hour ( future blog entries to include how to work out on a lunch hour and still smell nice) and I’m hoping I can find a way to get into the lap pool for an hour at least once a week. Other than that I’ll be on my routine of calorie counting Monday through Thursday, eating whatever the foo I feel like on Fridays, and living moderation on the weekends.
Why? Because my favorite pants don’t fit and when I waved goodbye to Thor this morning, my arm kept going long after the wave was finished.