Tomorrow is the day. Appointment with the nutritionist. I am giving up and begging for help. I cannot do it alone. I am hoping that she gives me helpful advice, and doesn’t just instantly produce wires to clamp my jaws shut.
Sixty-six days until 70.3. Eeeeek.
I have actually done pretty well eating-wise this week, with the exception of my “last meal” tonight (pizza…mmmmm….pizza.) No beer/wine/fun for almost two weeks. Nothing like sixty-six days to a Half Iron to scare me straight.
I would like to get some definitive answers, some lifestyle plan. I have been on a giant weight yo-yo forever. I’m tired of it. My closet ranges from size 8 to 18. Annoying. I would like to pick a size and stay there. Forever. Or at least for six months.
I would prefer size 8, but I’ll take 10, and live happily ever after in a 12. I’ve spent most of my life bouncing around size 14 like a ping pong. Which is fine too.
Begging for consistency. I mean really. Over the past 10 years, this crazy person could have been a chief spy in the CIA.
Here are some of the best….. and some of the very worst:
The funny thing is that the “best”… feels a helluva lot closer to me than the worst. I mean really. Look at that student ID picture. Shield the eyes of your children.
So here’s me now. At least I’m moving around. I think, by default, I look thinner just by all the moving around. Or I’m just so “quick”….no one can get a real glance. A ninja. Yes.
Wish me luck tomorrow. Pray that I don’t “accidentally” knock the fat caliper out of the nutritionist’s hand.