And now I just remembered that my mother reads this.
Last night I really had to push myself out the door to go to the gym. I think I was feeling a mixture of guilt and discomfort from the three chili dogs I'd eaten last night. Chili dogs which I could have said no to, but didn't. I mean, the first two were bad on their own, with the chili and the cheese and side of potato chips, but that third one was almost the nail in the coffin, so to speak. I seriously did not want to go exercising after that. And when I did go, boy was it a struggle. I did okay on some of the weight lifting, but I really felt like I was dragging the entire time. And my time around the track was just terrible. My measly fifteen minute interval felt like thirty. This past monday, I felt like I was flying through the track. Last night, I was so exhausted, I almost felt like crying afterward. It really goes to show how much food can affect you.
|MY CHILDHOOD ROLE MODELS ARE LIARS!|
I'm trying to stay positive. This is the first time in a long time that I've exercised regularly for three weeks and tried to stick to a meal plan. I should feel good about just showing up at the gym last night and getting back on the diet wagon as soon as my next meal came. I'm going to fall once in a while, but I have to remember I'm strong enough to pick myself up.