Before the separation, I was naturally skinny.
As in, I used to eat whatever the fuck I wanted, when I wanted to without exercising. Like, ever…
Well, okay there were a couple of gym visits, and the occasional yoga tape – but since barely passing grade 10 gym, the last year it was mandatory to qualify for a diploma, I didn’t.
Yeah, I had the metabolism that every other person on the planet without that ability hated.
Now, I’m not saying I hate the old me…but yeah, I kind of do.
But not really, because I knew I was lucky. I was grateful every day that I could live a life allergic to exercise and still appear healthy. I say appear because… OMG my head was so, so unhealthy. But that’s a topic for another day. I took it for granted in a lot of ways, but I was grateful for my once enviable metabolism.
I don’t know whether it was approaching 40, or the significant decrease in stress that separation brought, or the fact that I met a man who cooks amazing meals AND bakes.
I hit the jackpot with The Locksmith. I joke with my friends that he’s the best wife in town. I do hope he’s not secretly offended by it, because I mean that in the absolute best possible way.
Except that now that I’ve found him, I no longer possess the magical metabolism that required no effort or thought from me.
Since I’m not about to give up the incredible meals – I’ve had to get over myself and start going to the gym.
And I went!
And I counted calories.
And I lost 8 lbs in 8 weeks.
Then I stopped for 2 weeks.
Okay, it will be 3 soon.
But a post on one of my lists reminded me why I started in the first place.
And I’m going back. Tomorrow morning, bright and early.
The old skinny me is calling. She won’t give me back my metabolism, but she’s cheering me on as I head back to the size I was. As long as the science holds.
I’m praying that it does.
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