Saddling The Horse

    I feel like, if I write it, I have to commit to it. So, old news, weight loss journey and all that jazz continues still. It doesn't really ever end. Definitely not for people like me. I'm one of those unfortunate souls who break their backs losing weight, but so much as smell a slice of bread and gain it all back. Ain't life grand.
    So, this is somewhat part 2 of the journey, because, honestly, I haven't worked out all that much post-boot camp (can't believe that was a year ago!), and I have 2 kg to prove it. Ugh. But, twas not all in vain. Since part 1 of my journey, I am definitely more conscious about what I put on my plate. I have been exposed to a world where no thigh gap be damned, girls break out them short shorts and crop tops (there are some courageous souls out there, people!) and while my very African upbringing is embedded deep within me, I'd like the option should I succumb to a particularly fabulous pair of shorts.
    I won't lie, exercise is not exactly up there with my list of favorite things to do. If I'm running, let it be clear to everyone that there is imminent danger and it is coming fast. There's a stack of things against me, one of them being my introvert tendencies, coupled with my love of books = sweet treats cozied up in bed getting lost in some fantasyland. At least, this had been me for the longest time, til a little channel called TLC came along and terrified me to my very soul. How, you ask? Where to begin... 'My 600-lb life', 'Weighing up the enemy', 'My weight is killing me'... you get the gist. Now, I am an extremely far cry from 600 pounds (that's ~272 kg FYI), but it's been enough to instill the fear of God in me.
    It's a hard concept to grasp if it hasn't been a personal experience, but there's a period in a big girl's life when she goes from looking at herself in the mirror and mercilessly picking herself apart, to feeling sorry for herself because she's so unhappy, to simply being sick and tired of feeling sorry for herself, and having a pile of clothes in her closet that will be revisited 'when she's smaller'. That, friends, is the point of no return. No thought is more terrifying than the possibility of reverting back to that girl, after mastering up the courage to drag herself from there.
    So, as always, bitch I shall about every burpee, every sit-up, every bloody lunge I do begrudgingly, and I'll day dream about that delicious chocolate chip chocolate cake with chocolate fudge and be content with the idea of it (and of course get me some of that once in a while. I'm no masochist) but I'll suck it up and do it...I owe it to that girl.