Carefree Is Not Just Gum

I’m afraid I’m failing myself and that I’m going to give up. My eating habits over the last week have been terrible. I managed to drag my butt out and run on Friday night and Saturday morning.

Running felt right and easy on Friday. It was crisp and overcast. There were deer in the field to my right, and deer in the field to my left. There were cows! And I saw several spiders which I did my best to avoid trouncing. Spiders have a purpose.

I should have run tonight. I shouldn’t have eaten ice cream.

I don’t want to fail. I don’t want to lose my progress. I think I got depressed because I was working so hard and no matter what, my weight didn’t change. I decided to eat more calories in an effort to help my body in case it thought it was being starved.

I was tired of micromanaging everything that goes into my mouth. Food became a chore. A boring chore. I was tired of always feeling guilty or wondering if I was doing the right thing to make sure I wasn’t going to gain weight, but in fact lose, but not over do it and hurt my metabolism.

I’m scared. I want to see progress. I need to see progress. I need to know that all the sacrifice and effort and pushing myself to be uncomfortable is worth it. That my body is getting stronger, healthier, leaner, and thinner. That I’m not always going to worry that my clothes won’t fit when I try to get dressed for the day.