Tomorrow is my weigh day. As a part of my 2009 New Year's resolutions package, I planned to keep myself accountable to work out five days a week. Each month I have upped my fitness goals and weighed and measured myself to see my results. I know to most people, resolutions are a joke to be forgotten about by January 9th; but in situations like my own, discipline is required to keep my body from spinning out of control.
If I had a weight problem when I was young, it was weighing too little. I entered 10th grade at 84 pounds. Once I finally "blossomed" I put on a couple extra pounds, and once I discovered the smorgasbord they call college, I packed on quite a few more. Now that I'm in charge of my own groceries, I eat what I like to make up for the cup o'noodles and leftovers that were my childhood.
I have the worst sweet tooth. I think tooth #15 is actually a sweet tooth in that it is becoming so eroded by sugar that it is caving into my gums. My weaknesses are ice cream, cookies, marshmallow supremes, chocolate pudding, mounds bars and mr. goodbars, donuts and their holes, and various Starbucks caloric-charged coffees. Starting in April, I'm really going to have to cut some of that back.
In the meantime, instead of eating more healthy foods, I burn 1,000 calories on the treadmill while watching tv. I figure it all ends up evening out. In March I ran 120 miles, which I find to be pretty decent. I know that I'm going about this the wrong way and the best way to maintain my weight is to change eating habits. I guess I just have a real problem with deprivation. I hate depriving myself of anything. If I were Catholic, each lent I would deprive myself of something I didn't use or participate in anyway because anytime there's something I can't have, I have to have it.
I'm a child in so many ways. All this being said, the scale and tape measure will say it all tomorrow. But really, my main measurement is if my pants are still fitting. If I had endless money to continually restock my wardrobe with the same pants I already own in larger sizes, I might not care so much about maintaining my weight and I would live at Dairy Queen. But alas, the curse of the middle class: gym memberships, sale racks, and eating at restaurants with memorabilia on the walls.