A couple nights ago, my daughter took my cell phone and took a picture of me. I saw everything that was wrong with my body in that picture.
My arms looked huge and flabby.
My stomach roll was visible through my tshirt.
And I had a double chin.
So of course, I ran to the bathroom and started examining myself, moving my head in every direction, assessing how bad my double chin is.
It's really not super evident otherwise but it was punch in the gut.
I topped over my scary number on the scale and that wasn't enough to motivate me to do anything, but the double chin is.
I had been doing well right after Tyler but I let it all go.
"I'm too tired to pack them up to go to the gym"
"He's too young to bring to the gym"
"I've been at work all day; I don't want them spending 1 of the 3 hours I get with them with a sitter"
"I have too much to do around the house"
"I can always go tomorrow"
"I'll work out after I wean Tyler"
All excuses. Every single one of them.
I set a goal. And it was terrible goal.
I wanted to weigh 150 pounds again. But that's not a good goal because the number isn't important. If I gain muscle, the number may stay but I'll wear a smaller size.
I don't want to say a certain size because once again, who knows. But I do have a goal. A real, perfect, doable goal.
In June, on June 24th to be precise, I want to wear a bikini at the hotel pool in Disney.
That's my goal.
7 months to feel really really fucking good about myself.
Wish me luck.