ERGHHHHH

The title?  That's my self confidence choking.

I've done pretty well with the challenge thus far, getting in at least 30 minutes of exercise every day.  Well, not Saturday, but I made up for it on Sunday.  (Little humorous side note here, I often mistype Sunday as Sinday.  Coincidence?  probably not.)  This weekend was BUSY for me.  Not only did I have to work, but I had my boys home for a four day weekend.  Which means my sleep deprivation increases.  And, while I am normally a bit of an insomniac, going from around 4 hours of sleep a night to, um, none, is brutal.  So, Saturday my butt was officially kicked and I had other family things going on and I just didn't make it to the gym. I made up for it Sunday.

And then there was tonight.  Prince Charming tells me to go first.  He wants to work out extra hard tonight with the weights in addition to his running.  It was totally fine with me.  I got all suited up (and by that, I mean, I took my jeans off and replaced them with my ratty gray yoga pants and then changed my sweater for a bright pink t-shirt.  Trust me, it's a hot look.  If you're going for that whole overweight eyesore kind of thing), got my gear (kindle, ipod, phone) all gathered together and headed for the gym.  When I pulled in and saw the parking lot full of large, souped up trucks that may or may not be symbols of something they are trying to replace in life (see me judging here?  No?  Look closer.  I am.  It's how I know they are doing the same thing when they see me in my cute little soccer mom SUV and my huge ass jiggling eyesore outfit wearing horror when I walk in - trust me - it happens), I got a little nervous.  I know these trucks.  And I know who drives them.  ugh.

I pulled into a parking space and peered through the huge plate glass windows (and seriously, people - WHY do gyms have to have huge plate glass windows?  Some people may enjoy the world watching them work out.  Most people would prefer to keep that kind of thing private. Well, as private as going to a public gym to meet and defend and conquer your inner demons can be.  Look, just let me sweat tears of blood and fat in my solitary corner over here.  Facing the wall.  The entire town doesn't need to know how brutal and unattractive I look while doing it.  So - if any of you are planning on building gyms in the future - just a quick note - no plate glass widows.)  So anyway, I was staring into these huge windows to the soul and I saw that yes, in fact, the owners of said trucks were, indeed, there instead of the overweight ugly wives, elderly spinster aunts, or, perhaps even a bloated, blind cousin as I had hoped had borrowed the trucks for a "Try it out at Tryon Gym" kind of evening.

Damn.

Instead, I saw the overly muscled grunter guys I often see there.  You know the type.  They wear ripped t-shirts to better display the obscene amounts of muscles that ripple as they move.  The challenge each other on who can lift the most weight.  They slap each other on the rear end and grunt and make a lot of noise as they work out.  They sweat, they swear, and they . . . . stare.  Usually, they come in twos or threes.  It's uncomfortable and I hate it, but I try to ignore them and go to my solitary little corner for my work out.  Tonight - they had come in full pack.  Nine trucks in the parking lot.  Twelve guys with too many muscles and too much spare time between sets to observe and silently mock the fatty in the corner were in the gym.

Double Damn.

My self confidence choked.  I'm not going to make an excuse.  I'm not even going to feel bad about it.  If you are as large and jiggly as I am, you would have done the same damn thing I did.  And that is:  you text your husband.  Explain the sitch.  And then hightail your ass back home.

Prince Charming often asks why I call him that.  He doesn't see what I see.  He thinks all of his princely charming characteristics that make him my Prince Charming are in my head.  But, if you know him or ever meet him, you will agree - I married an really awesome guy.  When I got home, he met me at the door, all dressed and ready for his work out.  He kissed me on the forehead, told me he loved me and then said - "I'll go first and scare the big bad wolves away.  When I get back, you can go.  It should be empty by then.  And, if it's not, don't use the gym.  Take Crazy Chloe for a walk around town.  I'll stay awake until you get home, whatever you decide."  No judging.  No censure.  Just acceptance of my freakishly odd phobia of being watched and judged by fit people while I work out and a smooch on the forehead.  I love him.

And when he got back, he told me he had kept his promise and slayed my dragons.  Ok, really he just said they were gone and the gym was empty now.  And then he told me he loved me and he knew I was stronger than letting a simple little thing as, and I quote, "some jocked up meatheads chase you away from your dream".  Did I mention that I love him?

So, I went.  And while I worked out, I discovered several things about myself.  First and foremost, a thing of which I am most proud - I can "run" a mile on the elliptical.  My body hates me right now, but I did it.  Secondly, Prince Charming is right.  This is MY dream and I AM stronger than those jocked up meatheads. Or, I will be.  In another fifty pounds or so.  Probably more like 100, but we'll take it pound by pound.  Until then, the third thing I learned is that I am a middle of the night working out kind of girl if I can't make the gym while my boys are in school or, like today, there is no school.  And so,  until I feel ready to slay dragons on my own, I will continue to let my Prince Charming do it for me.  And then scamper in behind him for my own private dragon slaying.

Motivation Required

I really suck at this blogging thing. And the losing weight thing.  And the exercise thing.  Especially the exercise thing.

So, here I am, like 3 months after my last post, updating that no, the scale has not moved much (well, it moves up and up and down again, but I am pretty much at the same weight I was at the point of my last post) and yes, I am frustrated at my lack of commitment.  This is supposed to be my year, the year I finally get this weight off.  It WILL be my year!

My problem isn't that I eat too much.  It isn't even that I eat bad foods.  My problem is exercise right now.  I hate to be hot.  I hate to sweat.  I hate, hate, hate moving in ways that makes my body jiggle in mortifying the public can see my body jiggling ways.  I have a gym membership I never use.  It's nice enough out I could even walk the dog around the block.  But I don't.  Jeebus, I am so frustrated with myself.

I realize it's a problem, this lack of commitment/no desire whatsoever to exercise kind of problem.  I need to just get over it.  But the problem is HOW do I get over it?  HOW do I focus on my insecurities, smooth them over and get my fat ass moving.  It doesn't have to be in the gym, I just need to freaking MOVE.  I was reading a few articles this morning.  Ironically, the articles were filled with low GI crock pot recipes I have been thinking about trying and NOT about exercise.  I stumbled across this blog and came up with a brilliant plan.  That blog is a little too religious for my tastes, so I really just skimmed through it briefly (because it was going to make my eyes bleed with all the Praise Jesusing) to get the basics. And then I had a light bulb moment.

I don't need to wait until the New Year to start this.  I don't even need a partner in crime, though it would help me with my accountability.  And so . . . I have challenged my husband.  And, I challenge anyone who decides to read this, whether you read it today or ten years from now.

The challenge?

For the next thirty days, I will exercise every. single. day.  Not just a simple going up and down the stairs hauling laundry kind of exercise, either.  Oh no.  This challenge involves the actual breaking of sweat.  Getting up off my ass and out of the house kind of exercise.  Raising my heart rate and keeping it there for at least thirty minutes every day.  Someone, namely Prince Charming, will have to actually see me red in the face, body fat jiggling, sweat dripping disgustingly off my chin to prove I completed the daily challenge.  And, if I make it the thirty days, I am going to keep extending it to another thirty.  I hope to blog about how it goes every day.  But, well, let's be honest.  I don't have a great track record here.  The challenge starts today.

Oh yeah - the consequences.  Besides remaining fat, uncomfortable, and miserable forever and ever, for any day that I FAIL to meet the challenge,  I have to do double the time the next day.  If I miss two days in a row, then that third day will be brutal exercising for an hour and a half. Each day missed means I have to add on the time to the next time I exercise.  It also means I fail the challenge and have to start all over again.

I've never passed a challenge yet.  I hope I get through this one.  Because my girlfriend is getting married at the end of August.  In Vegas.  And I have been promised a plane ticket AND $500 party/shopping/gambling money if I can lose fifty pounds by then.  Prince Charming lops off $100 for each ten pounds I don't lose to make my goal.  I have a lot of work to do.