I love working out.
Always have.
I love walking uphill on the treadmill, going backwards on the elliptical and lifting light weights at home during NFL Insiders. I love walking home after dropping my daughter off at school, music blasting, sunshine warming my face. Nothing relaxes me more than a good workout.
Except for potato chips of course.
Lots and lots of potato chips.
Oh, and wine.
And Amstel Light.
And countless hours of Words With Friends while simultaneously watching ESPN.
And that is how I've gotten through the past ten months.
And how I've managed to gain so much weight.
Lots and lots of weight.
More weight than when I was diagnosed with MS.
More weight than when I was growing a seven pound, seven ounce human being inside of me.
OH MY GOD, SO MUCH WEIGHT.
And if I don't start reigning it in now, I'm going to end up like one of the women from my all time favorite reality show, My 600 Pound Life.
The ones who need a team of firefighters and a broken down wall to extract them from their homes.
I have two choices. I can continue down this path to a land of morbid obesity and depression, or, I can cut the shit, deal with my emotions, grieve my loss like a normal, healthy human being and start to lose this weight.
I'll go with option two.
Wish me luck.
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