Houston Marathon. 2020. Dan’s first marathon. I was so proud of him. After all, in the midst of his crazy schedule of responsibilities at a high-level law firm, he had managed to diligently maintain his practice runs. When visiting family for Christmas, he had adhered to his training plan. What a perfect reason to hop a Southwest flight and spend a weekend escaping a harsh Midwest winter storm to cheer him on. And what a perfectly motivating weekend to decide that it was time for a change in my life. A time to quit dragging around almost 300 pounds. A time to try to and lose 26.2 pounds, for starters.

The following thoughts raced through my mind once the decision had been made: Obviously 26.2 pounds would still leave me obese and dragging myself up the stairs to my apartment. Obviously I’d still be only able to shop in the plus size section. Obviously I’d still be so fat that few people would even notice the missing 26.2. But I would know, I told myself.

And I guess that’s what matters most. I need to know that I’m still capable of making a change. That I’m not locked into this chapter of my life that includes poor sleep, poor self-esteem, poor mood, and a poor pocket-book because I’m so sure I’ll be unable to land a job looking like a non-motivated, exhausted, not-in-control-of-my-own-fork, middle-aged woman.

And so it came to be that I shared my decision with Dan and Jennifer on February 10, 2020. Jen and I mapped out a plan together, calculating what I’d need to do in order to lose 26.2 pounds. I weighed in at 293.2 and I set a goal to weigh in at 267 pounds, or less, by mid-May. They probably didn’t see it, because we were watching a Masterchef Jr. show on Hulu at the time…but my heart was racing. My mind was like “DAMN. Now that I’ve shared, they’ll know if I fail.” And fear set in just realizing this horrifying thought. What mom wants to fail in front of her kids?

Returning to my hometown, I braved declaring my decision to my husband, Phillip. I was all in. No messing around. I felt incredibly strong. Fearless. This time it would be different. I would eat wisely. Drink lots of water. Get loads of sleep. Listen to positive podcasts. Face that scale and embrace success. I would follow Dan’s determined footsteps and conquer my first 26.2.

And so here I am, six days later, writing my first blog entry ever. I’m sugar-brained and drinking herbal tea to try and recover from a family gathering where I ate chocolate chip cookies and rice Krispy treats. I’m sitting in the dark on my couch, thinking about last night’s homemade pizza and today’s lasagna. I’m thinking about how it’s 11 pm and I should be in bed. I’m going to be different, eh?

Am I the only person who royally messes up after declaring her intentions to lose weight? Why do I say that I’m determined to beat this crappy lifestyle into the ground and rise to a life filled with zip-lines, white water rafting, sky diving, employment, and good health…but then eat a big bowl of Mac n’ Cheese while watching reruns of The Biggest Loser or My 600 Pound Life and asking the hubby to walk the dog?