So, my roommate and I have begun a little tradition. It's a different tradition from the one where we kill a bottle of tequila for Christmas. No. This one is where we get off the couch and stretch muscles, lift weights and get our heart rates up. For at least 10 minutes. Will move towards 15 min and eventually 30. Today I did 20 jumping jacks and since 20 was a good number I stuck with that for arm curls and a bunch of other exercises intended to coax the muscles out from under my fat arms. And I did some push ups (girl style where the knees are touching the ground) and 10 sit ups.
I have a big milestone coming up in 3 weeks - I will be 40. And I will have had 3 weeks to make moving a habit. And today I met with a tattoo artist to discuss (shocker since I just told you in the title) a tattoo that I'm going to get in March. It is a symbol that is full of meaning to me in many ways. The basis of it is what's called a celtic-maori star. Combination of symbols from my European heritage and my goal of someday going and spending quality time in the beautiful mountains of New Zealand. And part of this pain/art process is reminding me that if I want something it's going to take effort and probably a little discomfort.
I cleaned out my kitchen cupboards today, went on what the roommate called a rampage (see hormone fluxuations...) and discovered a large bunch of packets from my MediFast phase. I haven't used them/eaten them for months. They are taking up space in my kitchen cupboards so I packed them all up and they are going with me to work on Monday. And they will be my lunch and snacks for the next few months (until I'm done with them all). I have been having my ass handed to me at work over the last month. When things changed with the cuts I made the promise to myself to put 100% into this job. Every day. And yet it seems that what is needed to keep caught up and get the job done is around 180% to 200%. Consequently the stress is not helping me stay well, or be nice....and I have to find a way to make it work. Because otherwise I'm going to be a 500 pound bitch by the end of the year. And well, that's just not in the cards people.
So, I shall keep doing this daily "MOVE" thing with my roommate and find a way to make the work not kill me. And that will include the federally required 30 min for lunch and two 10 min breaks. No matter what.
One day. One pound. One step at a time.
~N
No comments:
Post a Comment