The good news is that I've stuck to my workout routine for a month and a half now. I haven't missed a single 5:30 a.m. traning session, no matter how much I didn't want to get up or how cold/rainy it was that day. At this point, I know that serious exercise will always make the beginning of my day better — and that each session is a step toward a healthier (OK, hotter) body. I told my husband that once I reached my goal weight, I was going to walk down our street in some little shorts and red pumps ala Beyonce's "Crazy in Love" while he rapped in the background. I think I was kidding.
Still, there are potholes along the way.
The worst thing you can do when you're making a positive lifestyle change is to compare yourself to others. Unfortunately, I have a Ph.D. in it. Now, I've gone down a dress size, and even my mom had something nice to say about my weight trend. I've been eating mindfully and healthfully, and I can see a definite difference in the way I look. Yay. Good for me.
Then I gazed upon the photo of a lovely friend (who has had two children like me) and she was rocking a bikini. She looked frickin' fantastic. In her defense, she has been fitness-minded her entire life, has to-die-for genes and will probably be the flyest woman ever to grace a retirement home in 55 years. And yet, I was torn between chaining myself to the treadmill or blowing it up. Because it struck me that, as much progress as I've made, it's going to take a lot more time and work before I enter that ZIP code.
Again, I know that has nothing to do with my fitness journey. I'm OK; you're OK, etc. Or whatever. I'm going to eat my vegetarian frozen entree now.