I am in trouble. My waist is dying. If I don't do something, not only will I loose it, I will never again zip up my slacks and still be able to breath. It's a full blown crisis. I caught my image in the mirror last night and found a lumpy old lady. Even with great hair, make-up and slimming jeans I looked like slowly swelling balloon in my middle. I'm halfway vain, but what "keeps me up at night" are thoughts of diabetes, CPT, high blood pressure, and heart disease. If I'm not careful, I'll become my mother.
For years I've been able to control the fat creep despite the death of my metabolism over the past five years. But, after the shoulder surgery last November, following doctor's orders, I stopped exercising to allow the left shoulder to heal slowly. He even prohibited physical therapy for six weeks. However, he didn't give me any guidance on eating and drinking, so I merrily kept going at the old pace. The results were predictable. It's what I saw in the mirror...I just groaned, turned my head and rushed away.
So what's the plan? It started today...John left for San Francisco for the week so there's a chance I can dive in to develop a bit of discipline before he gets home. The goal -- a waist line. A shape that says, "Hey, she's looking healthy AND looking good!" Wish me luck.
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