I know everyone gets plenty sick of hearing about me and my weight loss/health/fitness goals, but guys…it’s time for another one of those posts. For my own accountability’s sake.
I’ve been slippin’. Big time.
To be honest, I don’t feel like I’ve been fully on-track since before Christmas with my healthy eating practices. I’ve had some good weeks, I’ve learned a lot about clean eating and going sugar-free, and I’ve still never missed my daily Shakeology. But overall, I’ve been treating myself far too often, and letting my portion control fall by the wayside. Since Easter, I’ve been one big ol’ fat failure when it comes to diet choices. Willpower = zero.
And it’s starting to show.
Slowly but surely, the pounds have started creeping back on. The size of pants that I was SO excited to finally fit into 6 months ago are growing snug again. I can feel myself sliding back down that oh-so-slippery slope…
All of those promises I made on the one-year anniversary of my weight loss journey, back in early January? The vow to be “harder, better, faster, stronger”? The goal of being able to wear a bikini on my 31st birthday, on July 28th?
All of that has faded. Fast.
And I can’t let it continue. If I do, I know what will happen. I will be 230 lb. Jill again.
I don’t want to be 230 lb. Jill again. I can’t let it happen.
This past Victoria Day weekend, I did a lot of soul-searching. Thinking about what I want to achieve in the weeks and months to come. What I think is realistic. What I legitimately think I can do.
I also did a lot of eating. I decided that if I was going to zone in again today and re-focus on healthy eating, then I might as well get it alllll outta my system on the weekend. I made a giant, cheesy, delicious platter of nachos for dinner on Friday night. I ate out three times over the weekend (St. Louis Wings Saturday night, brunch on Sunday, and my first trip to The Keg on Monday night). I coerced my mother into making my all-time favourite of BBQ’d cheeseburgers (with a side of potato chips) for dinner on Sunday night. I ate buttery popcorn and desserts and ice cream and even enjoyed a Starbucks treat, telling my friend Sharon to surprise me when she suggested stopping in there and I volunteered to wait in the car with Baby Sam – “Just make it sugary and full-fat and full-whip and all the good stuff. Go big.” (and she delivered with a Caramel Macchiato).
But this morning, I awoke with new resolve. Especially after stepping on the scales and seeing how my weekend of indulgences has effected that number.
I have officially gained 14 lbs. since registering my lowest weight, back before Christmas.
And I refuse to let that number rise even 1 more ounce.
The goal back in January was to be in a bikini by my birthday on July 28th, and I’ve decided that’s still an achievable goal, despite this latest set-back. If I really focus and make smart food choices, combined with my regular exercise routine (about the only thing I’ve had going for me lately, oddly enough, as I started jogging again last week and I’ve continued to maintain a 6-days-a-week workout schedule), I think I can still maybe get there…
OK. That’s it. Enough of the maybes.
I WILL BE IN A BIKINI ON JULY 28TH.
(unless it snows. God forbid.)
Let’s do this, people.