The quest for happy imperfection…

So today was pretty good. I didn’t wake up early to get any sort of work out in.. which is fine because I’m pretty sure that God doesn’t really want me to be up at 5. I did however walk Lucy for twenty minutes at lunch. And, big step, I walked home from work (about a mile-ish) then got Lucy and walked back to work to pick up my car. So, overall, like an hour fifteen of walking at a pretty decent pace and close to 3.5 miles. So, not too bad for my first day back on the quasi-wagon.

Food was pretty good. Could have been better, could have been worse. I didn’t plan really well, and I was exceptionally hungry. However, I did manage to get in three pieces of fruit (all hail the ever present fruit bowl that has recently taken residence on my counter).  And, though I was over my daily calories, I was still almost 300 under my “net calories” when I facotr in my exercise. So, we’re moving in the right direction.

 In other news, I’ve finally accepted my setback and reset my ticker to reflect my current weight, and not that brief oasis-like glimpse of paradise I had before. So, we’re being a little more realistic these days. I also made a big move and set up my freestanding punching bag tonight. That was a workout in itself! Carrying water from the bathroom to fill the base felt like borderline slave labor, and that whole beating foam into the bag thing was a complete and total exercise in frustration). But, my hope (hahahaha oh that’s funny) is that I can drag my butt out of bed and wokr out with it for just 15 minutes each morning. Yeah, we’ll see about that. My evil plan is to slowly trick myself into working out just a little bit more and more each morning until I have a decent wake up routine with a little bit of cardio and a couple floor exercises. (I still plan on doing my main workouts at night, but if I can work in an easy half hour each morning to boost my energy and remind myself of my weightloss commitment, why not?)

 All is not well in the bra department. I finally buckled down and took measurements for bra fitting. Let me tell you, beating the girls into submission and strapping them down with a freezing cold plastic measuring tape was the true highlight of my morning. The official size? Drumroll please! 34G. One problem… they really don’t make those. They assume that if you have bigger boobs, you’re also bigger around as well. So it seems the only place I can find Gs that are smaller than a 38 are like Stripperama. Great. Yeah, that cherry print bra with the holes around the nipples really isn’t going to go under my favorite sweater the way I’d like. Luckily, I’m almost an F and I’ve decided I’m just going to wait until then to buy bras. Here’s hoping those girls shrink quick!!

 Until then, I’m off to do the tiny boob dance! (Followed by the tiny waist dance!)

   So you know how I went up to a DD? I was wrong. Sadly, very wrong. My sis needed new bras, so when I was visiting her last weekend, we went to Frederick’s of Hollywood. She ended up an F. For SaG I tried it on…. it doesn’t fit! I’M A G!!! What?!?! Is that ‘G’ for ginormous? Gigantic? Gosh diggy damn those things are huge?! I just don’t get it! I’m a size 12ish, don’t gain or carry weight in my boobs normally… and I’ve got a porn star rack. Great. Just great. DH, naturally, isn’t upset about this at all. He thinks G stands for great. (In case you were wondering, he says the couch is very comfortable.)

Admittedly, morale has been very low in this camp. I’m back up to 190. Gah!! But, I’m pretty sure it’s my own fault. Okay, it is my own fault. Diet has been fair to middling (though I did enjoy every single one of the 5 pina coladas I had the other night. Yeah, seriously. Five.) Exercise has been nonexistant. The enemy is looking more than formidable.  However, I refuse to accept defeat. It’s time for a new battle strategy. First of all.. what went wrong?

1. Poor communication in the field. It seems that failing to blog and failing to log (my food, that is) have lead to a complete and total failure to direct the troops (my hands, piling food into my mouth).

2. Improper weaponry. Of all the things I’ve lost… I really can’t believe that I lost my sense of humor. (In case you were wondering, recon found it underneath the couch, dusty but hardly damaged) I seem to have temporarily lost my ability to laugh at myself and my own absurdity. Must replenish ammo supply. Perhaps a macarena revival? Or, maybe I can join in on DH’s thriller dance practice? (Side story: I came home the other day to find something quite odd… my 31 year old husband drenched in sweat while trying to learn the full dance to Thriller. Seriously. Apparently, he’s doing it as part of the opener to the talent show for the junior high camp he’s working at this weekend)

3. Inadequate supplies.  My trips to the grocery store have been infrequent and poorly planned. Frequently, I’ve been stationed at the front lines without proper vittles. Or something to the effect of me letting myself get hungry enough to chew off my own arm. I’m really going to miss that arm too.

4. Poor movement in the field. And by movement, I mean that my walk from the couch to the kitchen does not count as exercise.  And, even with the vigorous cleaning rush that has occurred lately… yeah, not enough.

And so, there you have it. The reasons I suck.  Okay, maybe just the reasons why I didn’t lose any weight in the month of February. Oops. But, March is a new month. And, if at firs, I don’t succeed, the month of March happens to have 31 brand new days to start over if need be. However, we are hoping that’s not the case.

In other news, the next door neighbor’s dog is mean. She’s also made a hobby of jumping our fence every chance she gets.  Her name also happens to be Sierra. So, when I came out into the backyard the other night at the tail end of a mini dog fight and yelled “Sierra, come!” I realized that the other owner was also yelling “Sierra, come!” and neither one of us received our desired result. So, because of that, and the fact that she really didn’t come to the name Sierra as much as would be desired, our darling has been renamed Lucy.

Other than that, life is peachy.