motivation

It's official. My life has passed into the pleasant state of "too boring to blog about". And I don't like starting a bunch of crap about politics or religion -- the only blogs out there more boring than mine are the ones who rattle on about Bush. Waaaah. Move to Cuba.

So I can only blog about my "diet". Sorry.

The WW thing is going surprisingly well. I wish I knew what this mysterious source of "motivation" is that causes me to up-n-make up my mind to lose the weight. I've done it twice already, which means I am disciplined enough but also a little bit stupid since I lose all the weight and then gain it back. And it isn't just a one-off orgy at Sheridan's that does it. It's a persistent but unrealistic belief that I can eat whatever I want, whenever the mood strikes me. And never exercise.

Mostly I think my motivation is coming from a deep degree of self-loathing for the way I look and owning a closetful of pants I can't wear. I should be forced to shop and try things on in a 3-way mirror every day until I get back to 135#.

I could say my motivation is all about how I want to get healthy and live a clean life -- but that's not it either, although I do find that I'm in such awful shape that certain things are becoming harder. This weekend I was trying to help T carry out our smoker, which is a monster stainless cabinet cooker that weighs maybe 125#. I tried to step down while walking backwards out of the garage, turned my ankle and went down like a punch-drunk prize fighter. I'm no longer allowed to walk backwards while carrying stuff, which, while it shouldn't, does in fact make me mad. And I swear that thing is getting heavier every time we put it back in the garage.

It's hard to admit I've got a problem. A food problem. I love it and it loves me, as evidenced by the fact that it stays with me long after I've consumed it. I have an unhealthy attitude about food and how it makes me feel, which is "better", that is, until I've eaten. I dream of all things salty, creamy, cheesy and chocolatey. Also crunchy and chewy. I'm making my own mouth water just writing all this down. Food IS my drug. Yet I still feel the motivation -- the drive to get the weight off. To feel the way I felt when I could suck in real hard and actually see my ribcage. To walk around in a pair of baggy jeans and have some people tell me my britches are too big and I should go buy something that fits. Ha! What an awesome thing to hear! That's a pretty good source of motivation, come to think of it. But no, I think the real source of my motivation is the perverse need to prove myself right. I said I'd lose the weight -- I said it aloud to someone who doesn't live in my house. If I don't do it, why then I'd be wrong. Can't have that! So, must lose. Must be right.

Wherever it comes from, I'm glad I've got it back.

And even so, I'm still thinking how good cannoli sounds.