I was set to write a post about how I’ve felt like a failure in the weight loss department. I gained like 14ish pounds since Christmas. I have a million reasons why- not eating well and not exercising at all are key- but then the emo eating that accompanies my GYN check-ups sends me over the edge. I had multiple martinis and maybe a few chicken wings but I am happy to say that so far, this is pretty much the news I was SO thankful to hear:
YAY!! Phew! Thank God, a happy dance and a good cry, all at once.
Then I started thinking:
I was SO terrified of getting cancer again, that I let it totally derail me. The thought of getting it and that I MIGHT DIE paralyzed me. But I don’t have it. Even if I did, it probably wouldn’t kill me, at least not without a fight.
But being fat might.
I have been so focused on how to make sure I don’t have cancer again,and I should be more concerned that I am at a bigger risk of dying from heart disease or a stroke caused by my weight than from cancer. I’ve read all the studies. I know the facts. And I know the danger I am in.
What was I thinking?
I know how to lose weight. I’ve done it before. Move more, eat less. 80/20. There are plenty of choices to make when you contemplate your health. What is most important? Choosing to lose wight is really what it’s all about, I choose to sit on the couch (or computer) or get up for a walk, or go to the gym. I choose to eat well, or eat crap. It’s all about choices.
I’m choosing to live. I’m choosing to continue making changes in my lifestyle that will help me be healthier. One pound, one step, and one size at a time.