I don’t see the point in making sacrifices unless I’m going to be, like, totally HAWT.
It turns out that I’m not crazy for not liking what I’ve been seeing in the mirror. I tried to be kind to myself in my previous post regarding staying within a reasonable range of my weight loss, but the fact is I’m displeased. I weigh 15 pounds more than my lowest weight and I don’t like how I look OR feel. I finally donated all my big(ger) Joan clothes and the only reason I don’t regret it is because someone with much greater need is now using them. If you don’t believe that things are getting out of hand, look at what the girls did last week:
Yeah. Bras aren’t supposed to do that. In guess it was begging for dear life and the girls busted free. RIP dear titty holder-backer – by the way, you don’t really realize how much you rely on a bra until you pop out of one in the middle of your workday. But I digress.
I’ve not been eating out (except for that one time). I’ve been meeting my calorie goal set by Blonde Oprah the vast majority of the time. Coachie says I’m training well. What do I have to show for it since I started this year?
ONE. LOST. POUND.
Meanwhile, I feel like I have no life. I miss smaller races. I miss smaller Joan. I know, I know. “You weren’t training for the same distances last year!” I also was a lot happier with my progress. What’s the point of going a million miles in the water/on the bike/on my feet if I’m going to be a fatso finisher? It is hard to be proud of what I’m doing if I hate while I feel as I’m doing it and don’t feel good in my clothes the other 10 hours of the day that I’m not training.
I either need to reevaluate my goals for this year or just be happy that I won’t be spending any money on race photos.