Half-assed. Not literally... YET.

As of today, I am 10 pounds lighter than I was a month and a half ago.

This has not come lightly, friends. This has been a pain in the ass struggle, and some days, it still really sucks.

I own a food scale now. I drink a gallon of water or more every day. I cook on Sundays and pre-portion things like chips, pistachios, and cookies into bags and keep them in my desk. I count every. Single. Fucking. Calorie. That enters my body.

The prompt that brought this on was not sudden. And I was not excited about it. It took a lot, and still takes a lot, of will power to un-fork my gooey butter cake addiciton. I went into this kicking and screaming, but it was necessary.

I really, truly looked in the mirror and realized that I was never going to have one of those "lightbulb" moments. You know, those moments when you look at a photo and realize that some weight has creeped up on you? A moment when you realize that your favorite jeans haven't been on your body for a few years?

Yea. I wasn't going to have one of those. I've known every single day what I look like. And for a long time, I didn't care. Then, I learned to like it, accept it, and work with it.

Then... I decided that I ate like crap, and I decided to run a 5K.

Yes. MY fat ass decided to run a 5K. Why, you may ask?
Because it looks like fun.
Because I want to be one of those girls.
Not because I have some unrealistic desire to be a toothpick, but because I want to enjoy being outside, I want to enjoy activity, and I want to be able to chase my high schoolers around all summer without needing to sit, or stop for a break.
I want to be able to TRULY teach these kids to dance.
I don't want to have to explain what I want, then ask for someone more nimble than I to demonstrate. As a full fledged director... I should be able to demonstrate everything I want. If I can't do it, why should I expect my students to?

So, I signed up for a 5K in which I am chased by zombies. Yes. For 3 miles. Over obstacles.

And you know what? It's going to be a damned BLAST.

I'm not into judging people for their food habits. On the contrary. I applaud everyone for trying to make a difference in their bodies. But I also applaud those that have a normal, healthy relationship with food, because for a very long time... I did not. I ate mostly out of boredom, and sometimes out of anxiety.

I also applaud those that will look at this and call me a bitch for not just accepting my body as is. Because those are the ones that were able to do what I could not: accept. I could NOT accept my body for another day. I hated it, I hated the way it felt.

Having my brother here has really put a damper on my food nazi-ism. He wants to eat crap, mostly. Dairy Queen. Steak n' Shake. Cold Stone. McDonald's. Can I eat these things? Sure. I'm not going cold turkey, and I'm not depriving myself. But, I can't eat anything else for the rest of the day, usually. Mom is still on the "eh, whatever" diet plan, but she's trying. And I'm trying to help her.

I want to be able to look back a year from now, and be proud of how much I accomplished.

I'm looking at this whole process from the perspective that I've already lost 10 pountds. I don't care (well, I do, but not as much as you would think) how far I have to GO, because that's not motivational, and that's not going to keep me on track.

OH! In other good news, because you're not tired of my ramblings yet, Webster Univ. accepted me into their MAT in Secondary Education program for Fall 2012. Who's going back to school? This chick!