I will survive, I hope.….

Day one is done and I must say, I feel pret­ty good. I ate rea­son­ably and decid­ed not to kill myself on the tread­mill and nev­er go back. Instead, I am eas­ing myself into the C25K train­ing pro­gram. The first work­out was tough, I was sweat­ing a lot, but I did it. The whole thing. Nev­er in my life have a run that much, ever.…..Perhaps a cou­ple of times in my life my speed has accel­er­at­ed due to a meow that I can’t quite place and I am sure that my death is impend­ing, but beyond that, I have been lucky to walk briskly.

Do I think that I am on my way to America’s Next Top Mod­el mate­ri­al tomor­row, per­haps, but I won’t be get­ting my hopes up for see­ing Tyra any­time soon. Instead, I am going to take this in stride and see what hap­pens.

I must say, I was so bold as to take some mea­sure­ments. At this point, I am not sure how com­fort­able I real­ly am with writ­ing them down, but I sup­pose if I don’t then what is the point, right. So here we go.…

Start­ing Weight 167 lbs
Bust 42
Waist 34
Hips 40
Arms 12
Thighs 22

I real­ize that the­se num­bers aren’t par­tic­u­lar­ly huge or sick­en­ing sound­ing, but they aren’t ide­al either. I am look­ing to drop about 20 lbs. That would put me back to what I weighed when I got mar­ried. If I lose 15, I will be hov­er­ing around my weight when I got preg­nant with Finnegan.

As I am sure the three peo­ple that will read this will want to know, I intend to weigh in on Mon­days and I will mea­sure again in four weeks. I am not expect­ing a huge change before then, so you will just have to con­trol your­selves.

Pass the sequins and baby oil, Momma is gettin in shape.….

There is prob­a­bly noth­ing in the world that I loathe more than exer­cis­ing. I hate it. I real­ize that there is a bit of irony here being that I have a slight obses­sion with Richard Sim­mons.  But let’s be hon­est. I am much more apt to sit on the couch pok­ing fun of the dancers Sweat to the Oldies while enjoy­ing an ice cold Diet Coke (back in my younger years it was more like­ly a Bud­weis­er and a Salem Slim Light) than to actu­al­ly break a glis­ten with Richard. Exer­cise takes a cer­tain bit of ath­leti­cism, which any­one who knows me real­izes that I have none. It also requires rhythm. Again, I am seri­ous­ly lack­ing in that depart­ment. 
Why in the world would I ever sub­ject myself to this tor­ture if I do not pos­sess the basic human qual­i­ties need­ed to suc­ceed? Because I am scared shit­less of becom­ing that thir­ty-some­thing mom who looks like it, that’s why. I have a fear of one day sport­ing yards of elas­tic in my pants and cute cud­dly ani­mals on sweat­shirts. I don’t want to be known as the mom that wears the bright red lip­stick because it takes the focus off of the rest of her dumpy physique. Am I dra­mat­ic, absof­reakin­lute­ly, but I am also real­is­tic. I am not get­ting younger and I have birthed two beau­ti­ful babies, things just aren’t like they used to be. But before you start think­ing, but it is nat­u­ral and won­der­ful and beau­ti­ful. I am also not inter­est­ed in the badges of moth­er­hood crap. This isn’t girl scouts, this is real life. No one is gath­er­ing around the camp­fire to cel­e­brate stretch marks and sag­ging boobs. Instead, we all lift and sep­a­rate it as much as we can and move on with our days.  
In addi­tion to the exer­cise, I am also adopt­ing some bet­ter eat­ing habits. I am the Diet Coke queen of the bi-state area and quite frankly, I am cer­tain that my insid­es are like­ly melt­ing, so I will do my best to sub­sti­tute water for my usu­al nec­tar of the gods. I am also going to eat more fruits and veg­eta­bles and cut out the heav­en­ly french fries and grilled chick­en wraps from my beloved McDonald’s. I am in no way going to deprive myself of any­thing, that just wouldn’t be fair. I am sub­ject­ing myself to the equiv­a­lent of medieval tor­ture, so the food choic­es will be bet­ter and every­thing in mod­er­a­tion.
Alas, here I am. In an effort to regain some sem­blance of my younger life and body, I am start­ing a quest to get in shape. I don’t want to, but I am mak­ing myself. I have done this so many times before, but ulti­mate­ly quit one or two days in because no one knows, no one cares and it doesn’t mat­ter.  In a refresh­ing new twist, I am mak­ing myself account­able. Blog­ging makes it real and more chal­leng­ing. I am going to post it and be hon­est. If it doesn’t kill me, then, well let’s just hope at this point that it doesn’t kill me! Come on Colleen, let’s get it togeth­er………..

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