Oh, you thought I was referencing the popular book series turned Hollywood blockbuster? Negative. I'm talking about the real-life Hunger Games aka Weight Watchers. Waaaaaayyy more scary than kids being forced to fight to the death in my opinion.
I love both of my kiddos. Love them to the moon and back. But do I love the way motherhood looks under my clothes? Not so much. (Relax, no pics.) When I had Hazel in September, I asked my doctor if there was any way that he could do a quick tummy-tuck when he was finishing up the C-Section. I was totally serious. I guess he didn't realize I was totally serious because he ignored my request and left me to deal with the aftermath on my own. Thanks for nothing, doc.
Working out has never been a problem. I actually really enjoy it. But with a full-time job and two babies under three, I don't have a ton of time to spend at the gym anymore. Not an excuse, just reality. Being limited on time for activity, I decided to focus on dieting to get the extra weight off. After a few months of resistance I finally caved and signed up for Weight Watchers (which from now on will be referred to as WW pronounced "dub-dub").
Here is something I really struggle with: I hate diets and I love food. Just like the kiddos, I love it to the moon and back. Actually, when TC is having one of his "emotional" days, I just might trade him in for a rich piece of cheesecake. Don't judge me. You haven't seen his melt-downs.
At first progress with WW went really slowly. It may or may not have been a result of me cheating a lot... I really can't say for sure. When I would cheat once, I would end up "crammin' for the famine" and would start again "tomorrow". It didn't really work out so well.
Last year, my dad lost a bunch of weight (like 60-something pounds) and has kept it off. Little by little, he started walking then running every night after work. This spring he started running in 5K races... like running the whole thing. My 57-year-old dad. Running in races. We did the Susan G. Komen "Walk for the Cure" last month and he convinced me to run with him. I ended up running out of oxygen somewhere in the middle and had to walk part of the way to regroup, but as I watched my dad run all the way to the finish line, I realized that even though my dad is almost 30 years older than I am, he is a whole lot healthier than I am.
So I decided to cut the bullshit. No more cheating, no more soda, no more sweets. I started P90X this week (which is a whole new level of hell that I won't get into right now) and it's working! A while back I bought a pair of jeans that were too small because I found them for next to nothing on eBay (I know, I have a disorder) and I couldn't get them up. Last week I put them on and not only could I fit them over my booty, they buttoned! Woot, woot! I have lost 52 pounds since having the babe and I weigh less than the day Matt and I got married. I wont lie, I still have a long way to go, and I still haven't reached the weight that is listed on my driver's license, but at least we're going in the right direction right?
It has been hard. Whoever said "nothing tastes as good as skinny feels" is full of shit. Chocolate tastes better. Waaaaayyyyy better. But new jeans aren't so bad either...
