I (re)started weightwatchers today.
I can’t remember the last time I was seriously happy in my own skin. I’m just now able to convince myself that it’s okay to leave my house without a cover-up method- and that’s only because I’m near positive I’d stroke out while wearing one in this suddenly-sticky Chicago weather.
The last time I did WeightWatchers, I was pretty much forced in to the program by my family, under the guarded concern that I was dying. Litterally about to lose my life because I wasn’t stick thin. I wasn’t obese, but I was pushing it.
Here I am, about three years later, a little bit happier, significantly lighter (but fluxing) and unsatisfied with my body.
I don’t know how I know that I’m ready, I just know that I’m ready to pursue this on my own.
My father gave me an addictive personality amongst other genes. Except my addictions didn’t spin in to alcohol (thought for a few months I was convinced that I needed AA because of a few sporadic binges and poor social choices)- they hooked in to food. Snack food, sugar, bread, junk stuff. The lie that “Oh, I haven’t eaten today.” Not exercising and lying to myself about it.
I’m working on setting some realistic goals for myself-
In two weeks, I want to be at my 5% goal.
I want to buy a bike.
In September, I’m going to buy a student gym membership.
In a year, I want to be at my goal weight.
I want to stick. with. this.
I want this day to be my new day.
Here we go.