Okay so I’ve basically eaten my weight in carbs since Vegas. I have no one but myself to blame of course. I tend to let myself snowball out of control after a planned cheat. Often getting to the point where I don’t see what harm it would be to be off the diet just “one more day” until I realize I’ve been eating like a pig for over a week.
This morning my husband came into the bedroom while I was still laying in bed with the dog and declared he was taking his body back. He was going to find some form of exercise and do it daily. He realized he has incredible dedication when it comes to playing his guitar…why shouldn’t he point this willpower in a positive direction and get himself into shape?
A darn good point I thought.
So about an hour ago I hauled out my air stepper. You know, the one I had to have because I just knew that I would use it every single day…remember that one? Yes. The one that has sat vacant under the dining room table for over a year gathering a thick layer of dust and dog pee.
It’s not much but I did that for fifteen minutes. I planned on doing five minutes, possibly ten but I was quite proud I managed to stay on for fifteen.
Of course it doesn’t counter act all the crap I’ve shoved down my throat in the last week but I have to start somewhere right?