Let me walk you through the series of thoughts that went through my mind as those glaring digital numbers stared up at me from the bathroom floor this morning...
1. This has got to be a weighted scale.
2. I should have never kicked-off Sunday football with that bloody mary yesterday.
3. Am I sure I got all of the conditioner out of my hair in the shower? Perhaps there's an extra pound or two (or 12, hopefully) left in the suds.
4. Okay, fatso. It's official. Time to start making changes.
I've, admittedly, avoided stepping on the scale ever since I broke my ankle this summer. I justified it by telling myself that I was already depressed enough at missing out on intramural softball, the Chicago triathlon and wearing the hot new heels I purchased. I just didn't want (or need) to know the physical toll the injury was inflicting on my body. The emotional toll was more than enough for one girl to handle. So I avoided it all summer. And then all summer became all fall. And fall spilled over into the winter. And now it's nearly the end of the year and I'm 144 lbs. Gulp.
For the first time since college I've realized just how easy it is to fall into the rut of not working out. Waking up at 7am instead of 5:30am? That extra hour and a half of sleep is just dreamy. Especially when it's cold and snowy outside. (I know, I know. Surprise, surprise, right?) Running out and grabbing a grilled cheese at the Nordstrom cafe or the Chicken Salad Salad at Jimmy Johns (which, of course, is that much better with the regular dressing and croutons) for lunch? So much easier and tastier than packing a salad or veggies from home. Going straight home after getting out of work at 8pm? So much more appealing than heading to the gym.
And all that leads to one sad, sad truth: I have, officially, fallen into an unhealthy rut. And the results? Well, they don't look pretty at all.
So I've got to get back on the saddle again in 2011. (What!? Let's be honest, Christmas cookies and mom's home cooking are just too good to resist. So, I'm giving myself a two-week free pass.) P90x is sitting in my room, ready to be tackled. And I'm standing in my best friend from high-school's wedding at the end of March. Seems, to me, like the perfect combination. But since "I'm going to lose weight" seems so very cliche, especially at this time of year, I'm going to put it in the words of Knocked Up:
Alison Scott: You want me to lose weight?
Jack: No, I don't want you to lose weight!
Jill: No, uh, we can't legally ask you to do that.
Jack: We didn't say lose weight... I might say tighten.
Jill: Just liked toned and smaller.
Jack: Don't make everything smaller, I don't wanna generalize that way... tighter.
Jill: We don't want you to lose weight, we just want you to be healthy. You know, by eating less.
Alison Scott: OK.
Jill: We would just like it if you go home and step on the scale, and write down how much you weigh, and subtract it by like, 20.
Alison Scott: 20.
Jill: And then weigh that much.
I hear ya, Jack and Jill. I hear ya loud and clear.
125, here I come.