Motherfucker

I just weighed myself on the accurate digital postal scale at work. It's the only scale I trust, since it gets recalibrated every month so that UPS and FedEx can't sodomize us (more than they all ready do, anyway) on shipping.


I weigh 187.6 pounds. Subtract the standard five pounds for clothing, and I weigh 182.6 pounds.

Motherfucker.

This is by far the heaviest I have been in my life. I am only five foot six, and while I'm carrying the weight fairly evenly, I have definitely developed a pooch, cellulose has colonized the back of my thighs, and stretch marks are dancing their way across my breasts and hips. As a childless twenty-something, this is neither healthy nor physically acceptable.

Now I know that, genetically, I'm designed to be an ample-hipped and slightly-under-endowed Irishwoman, and I'm okay with that. But I've eaten and couch-potatoed my way into a weight category that, when coupled with my borderline psychosis stress levels, is pushing me towards a stroke or heart attack faster than a jackass gets pushed in front of a bus. Shit be bad, yo.

So as of right now, I'm done pussy-footing around my healthier eating regime. Bossman - who is also a good friend - has lost fifteen pounds in a month by watching calories, cutting out soda, and walking 30 minutes at a moderate pace every day. And if he can do it, I can totally do it, too. I just need a willpower transfusion and a cease-and-desist letter to my depression for food consumption as a way to make me feel better. And I should probably start using that gym membership I pay $20/month for.

It's February 2. By Februrary 29, I'm going to weigh 172.6 pounds (or 177.6, with clothes on). By March 31, I'm going to weigh 162.6 pounds (167.6 with clothes on). By April 30, I'm going to weigh 152.6 pounds (you can do the math by now). And then I'll try to maintain that weight until the end of May, before I decide what to do. One glass of soda per week. Limiting the sugar in my tea. Drinking water before anything else. No more stupid dinners (read: ice cream pints). And exercising for 30 minutes a day.

I can do this, I swear. I mean, I quit biting my nails for no reason 2 months ago, and they look fabulous. If I can fit in a size 10 again by mid-April, I'll be thrilled.