Ok. Well, I guess you could say I have been gone for a while. Time sure seems to fly when you’re trying to avoid your life. Or at least some of the things in your life. Like being accountable and doing what you set out to do.
The truth is, I don’t write when I am not being responsible. I set out this year to lose weight. I announced it with pomp and circumstance, I started a blog, I got plenty of support, my life was on a roll, I started living my dream, and then BOOM! The insidious thought process that is self-destruction starts to descend into my very breath.
With that, I find every excuse I can to NOT bring it back around. I talk about getting back on track, and I commiserate with others when they talk about being off. For instance, April was filled with sun. I was helping my husband at his job, the weather was so nice and I was consumed with busy days. May came, and then I needed to get ready for my sons graduation from High school. I had family coming in, and I needed the house in complete order. I had no time to exercise and the last thing on my mind was dieting!
It is now June, and I have managed to lose only 8 pounds and keep it off this year. Now, here’s the rub.
Last week, after the festivities of Graduation were over, I made a decision to renew my weight loss vows.
I was out of excuses. I had talked about it until I was bored, I had avoided it, and now I made a schedule. I would get up early, do some early morning chores, get the little one off to school, and then hit the gym. I would stay at the gym until my workout was completed, about 2 hours, then I would finish out my day. I had a plan!
Here’s how it has played out so far.
Day one: A perfect day. Work out 2 hours, food, good.
Day two: I broke my little toe tripping on a rug in my house. See picture.
You see, all was going great. I cleaned up a little, I had my coffee, I was just straightening up this stupid rug in my loft upstairs before I left for the gym. Its this rug that for whatever reason seems to get a bump in it all the time. I pull it flat, I walk away, come back, and it’s bunched up again. So there I am, getting ready to put on my socks and shoes and get out the door, and I stopped to pull the rug flat. Somehow my little toe caught under the rug while I was in motion and I heard this little crack. I looked own, and there, to my absolute surprise, I saw my cute pinky toe jetting out at a peculiar angle from the rest of my toes.
I sat down abruptly and looked with utter despair at my little boy who asked me, “mommy, what are you doing?” I was surprisingly calm, I had not yelped with pain, and yet my toe was pounding.
I announced that I had broken my toe.
“But you’re not crying.”
“No, I’m not. Would you please go wake up your brother?”
“How did you break your toe?” He was very interested.
“I tripped on the rug. Would you get your brother?” I was incredibly patient, I thought.
“Did you trip on a toy?” He asked, wide-eyed.
“No.” I am now crawling military style on my elbows and belly to the door to my oldest sons bedroom to wake him up.
“What are you doing now? Can I play?” he asks as he gets down on his belly with me.
I sidle up to the door and I knock on it. “Honey? I need your help. Hurry!”
I hear a rustle.
“What do want?” comes the grumpy reply.
“I broke my toe and I need you to help me get your brother to school and get me to the emergency room.” I decide that I am a saint.
The door swooshes open, and my bleary eyed teenager steps out. “Seriously, mom? He moaned. “What’s next with you?!”
Ok. I definitely don’t need the attitude, I decide, my toe is broken for rice sakes. I take a picture and text it to Better Than Me, also known as my husband. I can’t wait to hear from him.
