My doctor told me to stop having intimate dinners for four. Unless there are three other people. ~ Orson Welles
There is a blog thing going around - Fitness Friday. I am not a fan of organized exercise and diet, so I have resisted (and still am), but Friday seemed to be the day for me to complain about my plight! I am a butterball. I think someone snuck in at night and injected me with jello, because there can be no other reason for all this stuff around my middle and across my butt. I absolutely waddle.
I long ago gave up the idea I would ever be what I once was, but I didn't know I would become Humpty-Dumpty. Please. So, I decide, do I continue the waddle walk or do I watch what I eat? What other four words could strike such terror as those. I know it's unhealthy to carry so much weight, so I'm going to be forced into action. Seriously, I've cut off 11 inches of my hair and didn't lose a pound. What's up with that? I guess I need to cut out ice cream, wine with dinner and I guess what I have for dinner, since the hair thing didn't work. I can't think of a way to make myself taller (I've always believed I am undertall rather than overweight), so I need to consider the food. Maybe I'll search Craig's List for a treadmill, something being dumped by someone else who thought it was once a good idea.
Ah well, I sit here eating yeast rolls covered in blueberry preserves as I write about doing something about my weight. So goes my life, lots of thought, not so much action.
I put a weight-loss tracker on the sidebar, but don't hold your breath waiting for it to move!