It occurred to me the other day, on one of my increasingly infrequent trips to the gym, that the towels provided by my health club are getting smaller.
Or, as I stood there, trying to decide if I wanted to cover my top half or my bottom, or conversely, my front half or my backside - I realized that maybe it's me, getting larger.
I went wedding dress shopping. Turns out it was an AWESOME experience, and lots of dresses fit, and there were no tears. Even if I don't lose a single pound, I will find a gown that I love that makes me look and feel absolutely beautiful.
But apparently using that as an excuse to eat cheetos and watch The Vampire Diaires is wearing a little thin.
So I'm trying again. I'm back at the gym, dipping my toes in the water, back attempting to do Couch25K AGAIN, because my life motto appears to be borrowed from my most despised playwright, Samuel Beckett.
"Ever tried, ever failed. No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better."
Every year for the past 3 years, I have attempted to write a 50,000 word novel in November, and once in August. I've never gotten there, but each time I learn something. I get closer and closer to finding characters that work, writing habits that fit, tools that help me get to my goal. I don't beat myself up - well, sometimes I read what I've written and throw myself across my chaise and bemoan the fact that I hate every word, but what I mean is - I can identify that what I've done here is a good start, but there are some problems and it needs polishing, and hey - next time I'll know better.
But when it comes to trying to lose weight, every 'failed attempt', every false start, every time I don't achieve success as I've definied it, I feel like I get further and further away from every achieving my goals.
So. Here are my goals, for the immediate short term:
Run 3 times a week.
Drink more water, fewer lattes with whipped cream.
Pack my lunch and stay away from the pastry counter.