Kill, kill, kill

I am not obese. I'm not at a risk for any health issues and I don't have to shop at special stores to buy the clothes I want to wear. I'm that girl who gets death glares from the people who would "kill to be" my size.

My problem is that I know that.

So, like today, when my lunch just plain doesn't satisfy me, I walk down the stairs to the pizza parlor below  my office (I know, bummer right?) and add a giant slice of 'roni to my caloric intake.



Mmmm.... 'Roni goodness.

 And while I know I'm not faced with a "lose weight or die" option, this is very often my downfall.

I don't need to lose weight, but I should. Diabetes is prevelant in my family, and I have problems digesting just about everything. My energy level has dropped drastically in the last year and my intestines are encased in this spare tire that probably hinders their ability to function at the primo level.

I joined my gym and started this blog with the determination to get rid of my flab and my unhealthy habits, but there's this part of me that just sits back some days and says, "Why? So I enjoy food, so what? It's not like it's killing me."

And then there are the days when I get up and go to the gym, with visions of a slim, willowy me walking down the aisle ahead of my sister and being proud of the work I did to get there.

This is my second problem.

My expectations of this gym-going and weight loss are that at the end of it all, I'll transform into this Bond girl and have my outer shell perfectly reflect the willowy and graceful woman that lives inside of me.



Vesper I am not.

 Which is completely unrealistic. Enter the "Why?" attitude and all of a sudden I don't even feel the need to go to the gym.
And even though I don't need to, I should.  Because if I keep eating pizza when I feel like it and not working the excess off, someday very soon that will reverse, and I'll be listening to the doctor tell me to lose weight or die.

I have good reasons for wanting to lose this weight, and even though they're aren't life-threatening they are important to me, and I need to work on remembering that. Because nobody's going to push me out the door and say "Go work off that pizza." I have to be the one to say it, and I have to be the one to mean it.

Holy hell. Challenge No. 2 is a lot harder than it sounds.