I did 9 flights of stairs today. One up to work, then 2 sets of 4 to the top of the building; one set around 9, and one at lunch. I only had to stop once during each set, after 2 flights.
The first set was fueled by an anxiety attack. Physical activity is a great way to get rid of the heebie-jeebies. The second set? I guess I was just nuts and thought, "Gee, that's so much fun, let's do it again!"
I had a goal to get into the black scrub pants by the end of June. Didn't happen. Again. The end of July is probably not realistic, either. August it is.
Haven't worked out much in the last 2 weeks. Eating poorly, too. I need to refocus. I will climb 4 flights of stairs tomorrow, plus we are going to do yard work, weather permitting. I think I'll re-read Picture Perfect Weight Loss, too. I've got just 1 year left to reach my goal. I have to stop playing around and get serious. I don't want to fail at this. But I don't seem to want to work for it, either. Gotta find my motivation. Maybe make a big calendar for my bedroom, checking off the days till my 40th birthday. Which, btw, will be on Friday the 13th next year. Seems about right! But I don't want to be sad about 40; I want to celebrate a healthier me then. So I've got to get to work.
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I need a place to be honest and real. This is it. I'm going to be honest about my weight (!), my eating, my exercising; everything. And it will probably hurt. But I think it will be a good thing.
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