And I failed.
I haven’t been to the gym in 164 days.
And then he died.
And my world fell apart and I decided that I just didn’t have the mental or physical capability to continue working on myself.
So I didn’t.
I stuffed my face, and I sat on my ass, and I languished. The two weeks I was trekking back and forth between work, home, the hospital, and then finally hospice… I didn’t eat a single meal that wasn’t fast food. And then the convenience and the depression won.
I gave up.
But now, I look back on the last 5 months and compare them to the first 6 months of 2014. And it makes me angry. Angry with myself for giving up on myself. Angry with myself for not taking care of myself.
2015 is here. I am 32 years old. I am fat. I am unhappy. I am in pain.
I am too young to live life this way.
2015 is here. I am here. And this time, I am not going away.
My journey is going to look a little differently this time around. I miss lifting, but physically I can’t do it right now. I have started seeing a pain management doctor, so hopefully I’ll get to where I want/need to be. In the meantime, I can eat healthy. I can count calories. I can walk in a swimming pool. I can do something.
I got on the scale this morning, and no surprise: I gained everything back (and then some).
Starting Weight: 238.7
This is it. This is where I start making my own choices, instead of simply letting life happen to me.