A manana

I procrastinate. If there is a project at work due, I will pick at it but leave the bulk for the day it's due, saying that I work best under pressure. If there is ironing to be done, I think tomorrow is a better day to do it because it won't be as hot out tomorrow. In my pre-Byron days, if a bill was to be paid, I would wait until after the weekend, relishing my flush account for a couple more days. I can justify a lot of things.

I go to Curves. And I try to go three times a week minimum. Every Sunday night, when I pack my gym bag, I tell myself I will fo Monday, Wednesday, Friday AND Saturday this week. I feel so powerful walking to work with my backpack of gym pants and sports bra. Then the day starts and so do my excuses. I will start to feel groggy arounf 11 am, and then the excuses really begin. I think I should go home right after work and make a nice dinner for Byron, or do something wedding-related, or tackle that ironing. Really, I am going home for a siesta. The guilt sets in, so I am more determined for Tuesday. I revise my plan for Curves on Tuesday, Wednesday, Friday and Saturday.

Tuesday has always been my most tired day since being on this 6am shift. By noon on Tuesday, I am the walking dead. And my excuses for not going to Curves are blatant. How could I possibly work out in this state? It'd be cruel. So I go home, wash the day from my face and take a siesta.

By the time Wednesday rolls around, I am embarassed to not have gone at all this week, and I tell myself my humiliation should send me home. So I go, and I take a siesta.

Thursday is good tv night, and since I am in the west, I can get the eastern feeds earlier, thus watching The Office at 5pm instead of 8pm, allowing me to go to bed early. I go home.

It's Friday, the week has melted away and I have yet to break a sweat, so why start now. My gym bag has been sitting under my desk all week. Next week, I say, next week.

On Saturday, either Byron has the day off and I want to spend the day with him, or he's working and I take that time to clean adn get the house in order. Next week, next week.

I need to remember how good I feel after a workout. I need to keep that feeling of energy in my mind when the lure of a siesta gets too loud.

I did have a good, and psychological excuse, though. There is a coach at Curves who is a socially retarded douchebag. She's whiney and weird and talks about crap all day. She bugs me. One day, she was asking me about the wedding and I said my dress had arrived. She said to me, and I quote,

"Are you even trying to lose weight or are you happy just like that?"

I was stunned. I could not believe someone in a facility like Curves would say that to me! I sputtered out something along the likes of "I am happy with who I am and I have a man who loves me just as I am." I couldn't resist that last bit, since she's single and has been sort of snots to me about her being alone and I'm not. She really hurt my feelings, and for a while, I was going to Curves only once or twice a week, hoping not to see her.

Then it hit me - I am paying $42 a month to go to Curves, why am I not going?! So I screwed up the courage and reported her to the manager. Turns out ol' sourpuss has resigned and is leaving soon. The manager said she was too focussed on weight loss and not encouraging members.

My goal when I joined Curves was not to drop oodles of weight for the wedding, but tone up and firm up so my arms are fleshy flags jiggling down the aisle. I am proud to report muscle tone in the arms now. I didn't want to be this scrawny thing on my wedding day, just to ballon up again post-September 19th and have my kids ask me in 10 years who that woman is in the picture with dad. I am me. I am big. My thighs are big, my bum is jiggly. I have a tummy (his name is El Pauncho Grando). But I am also healthy, flexible, and happy.

I'm going to Curves tomorrow. (I have errands to run after work today!)

Sweatingly Yours,
xoxoSallyt