Do you know where the devil lives?

At a drive-thru window. (cue joke drums)

What the hell happened to my plan? My motivation?
Well, I lost it to a bag of fast food at least two or three times this week, and another night to a restaurant with our plates piled high with chicken wings and beer on the side. Ugh, ugh, ugh. Super fail.
(Fishface and I hardly ever give in to fast food. Restaurants, yes, but fast food is a once-in-a-blue-moon meal.)
So, something is seriously wrong.

Oh, and when was the last time I showed my face at Yoga? Hmm, when I was 28. I’m 29 now, and still failing at this mission of weight loss, balance, healthy eating, fitness – overall nutritious life.
Realistically, it’s been at least a month since I’ve unrolled a mat, but that’s long enough for me to get timid all over again about going back.
(SN: Kudos to us for getting to the gym for pre-dawn workouts last week, but we haven’t been back this week at all. Excuse: Fishface has been sick. My excuse: well…huh?)

And what about that daily blogging I promised ya, eh? Riiiight.
Super duper fail.

I ate a salad twice this week, still managed to drink unsweetened green teas when I land at Starbucks, ate decent throughout the day, but none of that mattered when I ripped through chicken and tacos like my life depended on it too many times this week. Miserable fail.

So, I think I’m done promising crap I can’t keep. Vowing to see the gym, more than I see a french fry box – striving to lace up tennis shoes, yet always finding myself barefoot and on the couch in sweats.

People have told me I don’t want this bad enough. Then, I foolishly try to persuade  them  (myself) that I do. They calmly explain to me, while trying not to ruffle my so delicate, sensitive feathers, that if I wanted it, I’d do it.
You can’t argue with sound logic.

Failed attempts don’t count. Pounds lost, then regained don’t matter. Fluctuating inches and dress sizes, those skinny jeans you keep hiding in the closet as a guilty trophy, no one cares.
Getting up every day and moving the instrument God gave you to the point of perspiration is what counts. Eating whole, nutritious foods – that’s what matters.

Wonder when I’ll get all this – wonder when it will all sink in and I’ll do these things, and be these things, achieve these things. It’s been long enough. I know enough, so why can’t I seem to do it?
Do I really want it?

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