I am officially opposed to commercials advertising prescription medicine. As a self-diagnosed hypochondriac, I fully understand the dangers of warning a person about a particular condition, and then offering up a cure for said condition. Thankfully, I don’t usually fall victim to the sale of the so-called cure. I usually conjure up a diagnosis, and then follow through with a home remedy. This afternoon, my feelings about those commercials were cemented when my lunch was interrupted by talk of dry, painful intercourse. There are just some things that should stay between a doctor and patient. Needless to say, I didn’t feel the need to finish my lunch. So thanks, Premarin. You served as my unintended appetite suppressant today.
That’s not what I came here to discuss, but I really needed to get that off my chest and 140 characters was nowhere near sufficient. What I came here to tell you is that I am still alive. I am still embracing my journey to fitness; I just realized I needed to make some adjustments in that embrace. If you recall my previous posts, I placed a great deal of emphasis on the number of pounds that I lost over a period of time. While there’s no harm in keeping track of progress, there is something terribly wrong with the importance I placed on that number. You may not have been able to sense it in my posts, but I got extremely discouraged when the numbers on the scale started to drop more slowly. I was so dispirited that I actually considered resorting to some unsavory methods to speed my progress back up. By unsavory, I mean methods of the food-restricting variety. I’m really embarrassed to admit that out loud, but it’s imperative that the admission be made. I won’t lie, I assumed only my family members and close friends were reading my blog, and most likely doing so out of obligation. I didn’t realize there were other readers looking to those weekly posts for inspiration. And I couldn’t continue to serve as an inspiration if I fell into deceptive weight loss practices.
Thankfully, I remembered fairly quickly that I actually love food (hence my fatassedness), and would never be successful at depriving myself. But the fact that I considered it for a few short minutes made me realize that I might be sending someone the wrong message out there. The number on the scale is not the end of the story. Going forward, I am going to try my best to place less emphasis on the numbers and devote more attention to the lifestyle itself. I’ll still keep you up to date on my progress, but that isn’t what I want to focus on. My focus is on getting healthy, and running as many half marathons as my body is capable of. Hopefully, you’ll stay with me on this expedition.