And I wish I hadn’t.
I’m not going to say what the number on the scale was, because pounds don’t really matter.
What does matter is my health.
Lately, I know I’ve been eating WAY too much crap. I haven’t been exercising nearly enough. Since I started my job about 16 months ago now, I’ve been exercising much, much less. But I’m at work all day, on my feet for a fair bit of it, and after only recently going on medication for depression, I never had the inclination or motivation. But I’ve also got one hell of a sweet tooth. The sweet draw at work is always full and so tempting, and I seem to have no self control when it comes to food.
I need to eat healthier. Not only is there the sweet draw, there’s the fact I’ll often buy myself goodies because I’ve had a bad day and need to cheer myself up, I end up eating the whole of pack something, or I just don’t know when to stop.
This amount of junk food is not good for me, no matter which way I look at it. And recently, I know I’ve gained weight, I know my clothes are tighter, I know I get frustrated when I can’t buy my jeans in the same size I used to. But I keep eating.
This isn’t a post about numbers and which numbers are bad or what is too much to weigh, or anything like that. This is not me saying that I want to weight x amount of pounds because I think I’ll be happier then. This is me saying that I knew I’d gained weight but I had no idea I’d gained this much. I hadn’t realised just how much I must have been overeating to get here.
I’m sick of buying jeans and having the inner thighs give out almost immediately. I’m sick of chub rub in the summer, and always being too sweaty, and always being out of breath when I climb stairs.
This was a wake up call for me. I need to take better care of myself. My grandad has diabetes and my dad died of a heart attack, as did most of his family. I need to plan for the future, and need to plan to be around for it.
I need to do this for me.