Butterfield Canyon 10/16/2011 (15 lbs heavier)
A month ago, as I was slowly losing weight and feeling healthier than ever, I made a promise to myself. I promised that I would start to exercise if I reached a specific weight I hadn't seen in well over three years. As it so happens, I was just two pounds off from reaching that goal. I was set on starting this thing called 'exercise' within a few days...you know, if the scale would, uh, cooperate, that is.
Each morning I would step on the scale and watch it go up or down, but never down more than a few ounces. I started to become frustrated and wondered if maybe my age was the reason for my plateau. Regardless, there had to be a logical reason why I couldn't lose that extra pound...right?
Then it happened. Light bulb! Deep within the dark recesses of my brain, I began to see the light. It wasn't the scale or my age that was the problem.
It was me.
I've never been much of an active, athletic girl. I like doing things and being active, but not when it's in the form of 'exercise'. A leisurely hike in the majestic Utah Mountains, a stroll around the neighborhood on a warm evening, or even speeding around the track in a go-kart. It's all good and it's fun. Exercise, however, is not fun.
This morning I woke up and performed the same daily ritual and the scale was two pounds less than yesterday. I had finally lost that extra pound. I celebrated and then...
It was a start and that's all I can do. Start.