Most days I don’t want to slide my feet into my running shoes and drive over to our local rec to knock out another day of the Couch to 5K program. Most days, I’d rather do the dishes and then fold laundry and THEN clean the bathrooms instead of popping in the 30-Day Shred for another lovely round with Jillian the Ass Kicker (and her creepy sidekicks who smile the entire time they’re working out and WHAT IS THAT?). Most days I can tick off 87 reasonable-sounding excuses for staying on the couch instead of getting off it. And most days, I can think of a handful of very creative ways to find the closest pizza and have my way with it.
But since January 1, the day I decided to live differently (really differently this time, pinky swear, cross my heart, all that jazz), I’ve put the shoes on, let Jillian yell at me, gotten off the couch and ignored every slice of pizza that’s been offered.
There’s been weight loss, but it doesn’t even matter. Fine, that’s a lie, it DOES matter, I haven’t lost my mind or anything, but that’s only part of what motivates me when I hand the baby off to my husband, put off making dinner and ignore my overflowing inbox to make my way to a treadmill. Although a defined waist and sliding my ass into those great jeans in the back of my closet are two very clear goals of mine, there is something else.
I’ve talked about it for years. I’ve talked about it HERE for nearly A year. I’ve wanted to do it forever, even when I was 108 pounds.
I could never figure it out, though.
It feels like I’ve finally, finally, finally done it (or am at least on my way).
I’ve chosen myself.
(It feels incredible.)