I really love cheese. And chips. Oh, and sour cream. I will never say “no thanks” to ice cream. And bacon. And especially doughnuts. And all these things really love my hips, butt, and thighs. Did you know you could have a complex about fat knees? True story.
Between sister’s mission to be active 365 straight days and Dad taking control of diabetes with diet and exercise, I was inspired to get a handle on my health. Now maybe I should have started a little differently; maybe I should have gone to my doctor (I don’t really like him), had a goal in mind (i cringe at the word “goal” fyi), or weigh myself (nonesense).
I’m not a SMART goals kind of girl (don’t hate, haters. If it works for you, awesome). Having a goal, having something written down on paper or penned invisibly in my mind essentially makes me quit before I’ve even started.
Anyway, Dad and sister were all rah-rah fitness without actually being annoying and I jumped on their crazy train. In my best week I’ve walked over 30kms. In the worst, I’ve still trekked close to 10kms. I’ve walked my favourite path around Royal City Park, diy bootcamped (death), ran (ok, ran/walked) stairs, hiked, done tabata workouts (death revisited), at home yoga (I’m not zen yet, in case you were wondering), and treadmill incline walked at the gym.
I never, EVER thought I’d say this, but, I um, kinda like it. If I go more than 2 days without more than a walk to the library/starbucks, I get a little antsy. I can see (or start to see) my collarbone again. My butt is getting smaller (which, hallelujah, baby got (still has) back). But here’s where they crazy sets in. I may be wearing smaller jeans (eff yah), but I think I hate my arms more. And did my knees get fatter? (Seriously, what is with knee fat??!)
I feel better. But I feel worse at the same time. Don’t get me wrong, I’m totally complaining about my knee fat (yes, still), but am really proud of myself for the things I’ve accomplished in the last few months. I don’t have a trainer. I don’t have a roommate/friend checking in to see if I’ve worked out. This is all on me. (GO ME!). For all that I’ve accomplished, I’m still nervous some stranger might take my and sister’s photo on vacay (why can’t tourists take a decent photo? thank goodness sister has perfected the sister selfie) and I won’t be sucking in enough or I won’t pop my shoulder the right way to hide the arm flab.
This is where not having a goal hasn’t deterred me. I’m not disappointed I haven’t lost xx pounds in xx weeks. This adventure is for me. For my health. To live a long, crazy cat lady – cradle robbing existence. I just don’t want to have fat knees when I’m coaxing kitties into my old lady rocker.
What works for you when you get down on yourself about something that’s actually really great? (I’ll e-kick you in the shins if you recommend leaving myself inspirational “you go girl” notes. Again, if that floats your boat, cool. doesn’t do it for me)
ps: cheese, chips, sour cream, bacon, and doughnuts are still a part of my life. I walk 5kms so I can have ice cream for dessert…or dinner…whatever.
pps: this white girl has a rockin’ tan from all this working out outside (with SPF65 on everyday, don’t worry)