If you want to know exactly where you're carrying fatty deposits, go for a jog. Every pound of fat will rise and fall in response to your forward motion. You'll begin to (wishfully) think that you might be able to actually shake the stuff off like a rather large, bulky piece of luggage sliding off your shoulder. Never have I felt like such a bouncy piece of clothed flubber. I've gone for walks every now and then, had a healthy bit of jiggle here and there, nothing a good ol' suck-in of the gut couldn't cure, but today I decided to pick up the pace and run for a few steps. Boy. What a difference.
I wanted the discipline, reward and endorphine rush that jogging can bring. I had ideations of literally running away from my fat ass and gut. I thought that if I stepped up my exercise routine, and stuck to it, I might not have to give up oatmeal cream pies, or late night snacks of any kind. As a friend says, it's all about the calories. You have to either reduce what you consume or burn what you consume, or it will collect on your body in the most unflattering places. Since I become very angry if not fed upon demand, I decided a long time ago that cardio was the way to go.
I have recent multi-gold medalist Michael Phelps as an example. From the human interest stories during the summer olympics, it was clear that the boy ate his own weight in carbohydrates many times over, yet maintained the body of a lithe athelete through his training.
My interpretation: You mean I can eat waffles if I otherwise work my ass off? Sign me up!
I don't know how this is going to go. Today was only day one of my great jogging expedition. Weather's supposed to turn cold soon. I have errands and such to do. Don't know if I'll make it every day. Look - I'm already full of excuses. Eventually, I'll have to lose those along with the weight.
I've porked back up to a size that I'm disappointed to see on the scale. Zyprexa is a factor. Midnight snacks are a factor. I've got to even the scales with some activity.
I must admit that it felt good to select a goal ("that wooden mile marker post twenty feet from here") and meet it.
Edited to add: After visiting the library this afternoon, I stopped by McDonald's for an unHappy Meal. Driving back home, I got a spanking over the radio waves; Weekend America did a story on ultra-marathoner Dean Karnazes who describes running as a spiritual experience, his "time with God." Grrr. I'm such a loser.
The elastic band on my skirt is cutting into my gut. It hurts. Blugh.