A fat kid visits the gym.

I love food.  Everything about it.  The way it looks, the way it smells, cooking, eating......love it.  This is not a good thing when combined with my addictive personality.  Some people struggle with alcohol or cigarettes.  I struggle with the overwhelming lure of the Sausage McMuffin.....or three Sausage McMuffins to be exact.  And possibly a hash brown or two.  (Seriously, do they put crack in that stuff because they are irresistible to me on every level.)  And I'm no better than the junkie laying in the street.  I crave them.  I can literally taste them in my mouth every morning as I make the drive to score my daily fix.  If I don't have any money, I start digging under the couch cushions in order to scrape up enough cash for at least one of the delicious treats. 

Then you throw into the mix the fact that I have copious deficits of will power.  Sometimes I'll be okay.  Sometimes I'll make the trek to the drive in and purchase just one McMuffin (okay, it's never less than two.  I mean, who are we kidding?).  But with almost total certainty I'll make a second trip that day and get two more.  Does it count as four if you eat them two at a time, twice a day (I was never very good at math)?  I'm terrible and I know it....clap your hands.

Way back in the 1900's, circa the time of Ace of Base and Alanis Morrisette, I was a gym rat.  I loved to work out and it showed.  I had always been a dancer, so I had that great dancers body, made even better by the sculpting of weight lifting.  But eventually you get a life and six days in the gym turns to four.  And four turns to two and eventually I was only driving by the gym on my way to the doughnut shop.  Although, I'd always be sure to wave my chocolaty fingers at the people inside (those poor people....don't they know how much better it is on the other side?  The first one is free...).  I was okay for a while because I was still pretty active.  I was coaching and choreographing and taking care of my grandmother; all things that kept me in shape. 

But lately I've noticed a recurring problem that I find quite unsettling.  When I picture myself in my mind I look the way I did when I got married ten years ago.  Then I walk past a mirror and think 'who's that fat chick'?  Oh wait, it's me!  Not good.  I've turned into the cliche fat cheer coach.  Definitely not good.  Ok, time to do something about this.  So on that note this morning I got my fat butt out of bed, drove my fat butt to the gym and hoisted my fat but onto the treadmill.  I'm determined to look better and feel better and to have the vision in my mind match the reflection in the mirror.  So it's off to the gym 5 days a week and no more McDonald's.....okay, maybe just one....two.  Definitely no more than two.....per day.....dammit. 

Before pic (soon to be 'again' pic)

Waaaaay, back in the day.