Promises are meant to be kept

Although I'm not particularly happy with the template, at least I'm up and running. This was a main goal of mine for the year -- to stop facebooking my life to death with one-line blatherings about my current state of mind and start thinking more about my words, to start writing more than just yipping into the night like a dog begging for attention.

In attempting to decide what all miscellany to include on this blog, I wandered across my flickr account, which is rather sad and barren of any activity in the last year or so. However. However, however, however ... seeing all those photos from my (failed) 365 days of self portraits, taken while I was wowing myself at the gym with my awesome personal trainer, made me realize how unhappy I am with my current state, or lack thereof, of fitness.

I'm not sure why it is so frustratingly difficult to plunge back into the deep end and stop eating like I have the metabolism of a marathon runner. I'm tired of beating myself up over snacking on junk, and irritated at myself for not leaving it all at the gym like I used to.

The truth is, I'm happiest when I spend an hour at the gym each day and eat like I'm training for the freaking Olympics. It's my zen. An odd zen, sure. But whatever, it's mine.

So. No more excuses. No more, "Oh, it's just one day off the gym, one more snack I have no reason to be eating."

I have all the knowledge and resources of months with my trainer, more willpower than should be humanly possible, and enough strength to get through anything. Why am I wasting what so many people wish they had?

The dread plague seems to finally be wearing off, and I did actually make it to the gym the day before I fell into a three day snotty slumber. The grueling effect on my legs from my one day at the gym is a constant reminder of how far I've fallen. Tomorrow I will return to the gym, tiny notebook of uber-routines in hand, and I will not --I repeat-- will not, let myself eat anything that will sabotage my goals.

There are too few days in life to squander them on feeling sorry for myself. I've done this before, I can certainly do it again. Who knows? In a year, I might just be walking across the stage flashing poses and flaunting my muscles for all to see. At my best, this was becoming a very real goal, but my fear of being on stage in front of the world made me skitter away from it.

But if this is the year for shedding my chameleon... if this is the time when I finally drop all pretense and stand in the raw and let my true self show? I can't think of a better way to do it.

It's time to start researching shows. And perhaps invest in some anti-anxiety meditation techniques!