read write run

My sissy gave me  that little perpetual calendar a couple of years ago. I don’t always keep it up to date, but things have changed around here, oh yeah, and now I’m counting down to 15th of July. That’s when I’m getting on those scales. That’s when I’m going to be able to finally make a difference in my little ticker factory friend. It’s headed south. It so is.

I loved my holiday. Lots of peaceful walks with Beloved, and a visit with Radio Boy and his crazy cat Sophie. We went to Central Tilba, the sort of place Radio Boy describes as “hippie town” and I bought a couple of nice pendants to hang around my neck, and some crystals to hang in the windows. I love it when the sun shines through them and makes rainbows.

Yes. I am procrastinating. I did get on the scales on Monday. It was not a good thing. However, I got on the scales just before I got on the treadmill. Beloved and I have decided to really do some serious work, so tready it is!

Funny thing, I was readig one of Craig Harper’s motivations while I was away and he was telling a story about a guy who just about eats himself to death with chocolate. Well, that’s never going to be my problem, I just don’t love chocolate that much. I like it, don’t get me wrong, but it’s never going to kill me. Thing is, the guy in the story is told that he has some rare condition so that chocolate is toxic to him and one more bit will kill him, so he stops eating it. He stops eating it immedately and for ever. He stops eating it because he has no option. He doesn’t want to die.

So I thought about that. And what I have to do is have an “it’s not an option” attitude towards exercise. So every morning this week, before breakfast, I’ve got up and gone on the tread. Okay, I’m not fast. I’ve talked about this before. In 20 minutes I do a whole 1.6km. A mile. But I did it. And oh, there was pain.

The first day I crashed in the evening. My back was spasming and I felt awful. I took some Ibuprofen before bed and woke up okay. The second day it was my feet. I get terrible pains in the arches of my feet and yesterday was pretty bad, but I’m not going to die from foot arch pain, so I ran again this morning. Oh, this morning was really bad. There was chafing. There was a lot of chafing. There was so much chafing, there was blood. It was not nice. I have to figure out some way to not chafe tomorrow, because tomorrow I’m getting back on that tready.

15th of July is 6 weeks away and I figure 6 weeks should make a difference.

In the meantime I think of all the benefits. I think of how the only pants I can fit into are 2 pairs of stretchy pants, both of which have holes in them. Such an attractive look. Yesterday I put on some tracky daks because my pants were in the wash. Thought I was going to be crushed in those trackies, which were size 18 and should have fitted!

So I think about fitting those trackies (there’s ambition for you) and I think about throwing out all the lovely baggie things that hang off me. All those pants so frayed between the thighs that I can see daylight through them. I think about being able to ditch them. I think about my hated work uniform. Man I do hate that thing. The pants are hipster and I swear the way that shirt rides up and the pants ride down, everyone in ticketbox at work can see what colour undies I’m wearing on any given day. Aside from that, they are a very small fit, and I’m squeezing myself into size 26 or something. hatehatehatehatehate so I picture them big and baggy. Too big  to wear. Have to wear the smaller ones and then more smaller ones.

I picture myself emptying my wardrobe of all the stuff I wear that really is too big for me. The jumpers that I always have to wear with the sleeves rolled up, because they’re too long. The pants I have to shorten because in order to get one wide enough, I have to wear a size designed for people who are 11feet tall. There are small, secret clothes in my wardrobe and I’m going to wear them.