So it was. I made up my mind to take on the 12wbt challenge last Tuesday, though I’m not sure I realised it at the time. It actually was a seed planted in my head the week when The Boy turned forty one. Its been a year since the panic at turning forty and I’m hearing the same things, must get fit, must lose weight, must stop snoring. I can’t help but think the weight he was going to lose hasn’t gone away – it has company. And realising my efforts have been equally unspectacular.
I decided to just do it. I know because for every excuse I had an answer. Running is painful = get a good bra, just walk, try something! Its all a marketing and spin to make money = well other people have gotten results, so it cannot be pure hype. I’m not a sharing, group hugs and warm fuzzies type = consider that support has been the missing thing. I don’t want to do it on my own = ask G to do it with me. I don’t want anyone else to know = only scared of people knowing you fail, so stick at it and you can’t fail!!
Besides, its only for twelve weeks … what is the worst that can happen? Pain, suffering, and torture? I can take that for twelve weeks. Humiliation? How can it be more humiliating than being embarrassed about the way I look every day. Not being smart enough to solve this on my own? Well, maybe it is a case of being smart enough not to try and solve this on my own.
Now I find myself looking forward to it. I’m finding reasons to do it … feeling fit enough to get back into to playing underwater hockey, having the confidence to go canyoning with G, go clothes shopping for fun, buy a dress because its gorgeous not because it’s the one that fits, and maybe even for the first time in my life enjoy having my photo taken.