Big Fat Chick's Journal
...and the weight obsession continues.

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Week 2: Thoughts

So...yeah. Not quite the result I was hoping for this week. It takes major dedication to gain weight the very first week that you officially, publicly declare that you are going to lose it.

I *could* proffer a variety of excuses. There was Thanksgiving. Then there were Thanksgiving leftovers. The Target in my neighborhood is now carrying Silk Nog. Someone (me) made pumpkin pancakes that lasted for two days. Then there’s the stress. Stress often leaves one at home at night scarfing salt and vinegar potato chips and apple caramel cheesecake.

I *could* talk about what I did right. I climbed out of bed on the morning of Thanksgiving (and the two following mornings) and hit the treadmill in the gym in my building. I ate a lot of vegetables.

Instead, I’m focusing my day on what I will *not* do today, this week.

I will not let the number on the scale this morning determine how I feel about myself or my life. Too many times have I stepped on the scale, started to cry, and climbed back in bed, defeated. I’ll call myself some pretty nasty names. I won’t do that today.

I will not give up. This is the fifth, FIFTH attempt I’ve made to “lose weight” since May. I know this because I have a serious of started and abandoned journals, spreadsheets, weight charts, and food logs on the laptop that start with great enthusiasm and excitement and then just…stop. I’m trying to figure out WHY I stop, WHY I don’t stick with things, what the hell my deal is. I figure, if I at least keep writing about it, even if it’s only once a week, perhaps I’ll always be aware.

And finally, I will not eat any junk for the rest of the day. Sometimes, thinking in the long term can get a bit scary. Forty-some pounds is a lot of weight to lose. When you fail to lose or gain weight, it is so easy to lose hope. Today, I’m not going to sweat the forty-some pounds. Instead, I’ll eat well *today.* That’s it. How easy can that be? Facing twelve hours without a chip, a cookie, or that blasted nog feels much more manageable than facing twelve months without them. I can do twelve hours.


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