This is not a polished speech. Please give constructive criticism (a positive and a needs-work); I already know about the teeth sucking. Cringe. All strictly negative comments will be deleted. I'm trying to improve as a speaker. And, yes, the lighting where we are is horrible. The updated written speech (muuuuuuch better than this one) can be found here. Just read through the first few paragraphs of stalling and you'll find it. Thanks for visiting. Muah!
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Sunday, January 15, 2012
The Difference a Day Makes
I haven't yet showered; I'm not wearing jeans; I haven't yet eaten breakfast; and, after using the bathroom, it's actually down to 252.8lbs. So there's the difference in the day.
Saturday, January 14, 2012
Deeper than Disappointed
257.2.
257.2.
A cold front rolled into Miami this morning and, since I was heading out to watch the Martin Luther King parade, I stuffed my legs into my one remaining pair of fitting jeans, the very jeans I just wore last week. And they did not slide up and hug my thighs as normal; it felt more claustrophobic than a caress. I tugged them all the way up and found that buttoning them wasn't as easy as it used to be; I had to pull a little to bring the two sides together. It felt like my heart stopped beating and oxygen eluded me as I rushed to the bathroom and impatiently tapped the scale, stepping on it and staring anxiously at the LCD window, waiting to see the numbers, knowing they would confirm what I feared.
257.2.
Pounds.
Only 7lbs from where I was before I lost weight at the start of last year. And 8lbs more than I was just 12 days ago. The disappointment settled like a heavy blanket upon my shoulders, causing them to droop. My breath returned but in a fog containing thick dew droplets of disappointment, which settled in dense clouds within my lungs.
257.2.
Just eight months ago, I was 228lbs. Eight months ago, I was proud of myself, feeling sexy, beautiful, and healthy. Eight months ago, the scale and the mirror were my best friends. Now, I'm just miring through the mental muck of my failure.
Before I lost those 40lbs, I was ok. Now that I've regained nearly all of them, I'm self-conscious, a little depressed, and, honestly, upset with myself. I almost wish I never lost the weight in the first place. I was in better shape then than I am now that I've let myself fall out of shape: my fingers feel swollen and stiff, my leg occasionally swells, I've lost my flexibility, I tire easily, and my blood pressure, sigh, I don't even like to think about that.
This achilles tendonitis (happened in October) has been more burdensome that I thought it would be; it's eliminated many things I usually do-- I had to drop out of boot camp; I can't pick back up with my speed walking; and I can't do the WiiFit because I don't want to further mess up my heel (I already tried). The only things the doc says I can do right now are water aerobics, bicycling (gotta buy a bike), and/or the elliptical. The apartment I moved to in October is STILL building the fitness center and the pool. With my income, buying a gym membership is out. So I've got to wait on the fitness center/pool to be completed (hopefully, they'll be done this month).
I'm lost as to what to do, what I can do while waiting for my foot to heal (I keep messing it up by jumping or running).
In the meantime, I'm staring at the black numbers displayed in window beneath and between my feet.
257.2. Smh.
QoMV
257.2.
A cold front rolled into Miami this morning and, since I was heading out to watch the Martin Luther King parade, I stuffed my legs into my one remaining pair of fitting jeans, the very jeans I just wore last week. And they did not slide up and hug my thighs as normal; it felt more claustrophobic than a caress. I tugged them all the way up and found that buttoning them wasn't as easy as it used to be; I had to pull a little to bring the two sides together. It felt like my heart stopped beating and oxygen eluded me as I rushed to the bathroom and impatiently tapped the scale, stepping on it and staring anxiously at the LCD window, waiting to see the numbers, knowing they would confirm what I feared.
257.2.
Pounds.
Only 7lbs from where I was before I lost weight at the start of last year. And 8lbs more than I was just 12 days ago. The disappointment settled like a heavy blanket upon my shoulders, causing them to droop. My breath returned but in a fog containing thick dew droplets of disappointment, which settled in dense clouds within my lungs.
257.2.
Just eight months ago, I was 228lbs. Eight months ago, I was proud of myself, feeling sexy, beautiful, and healthy. Eight months ago, the scale and the mirror were my best friends. Now, I'm just miring through the mental muck of my failure.
Before I lost those 40lbs, I was ok. Now that I've regained nearly all of them, I'm self-conscious, a little depressed, and, honestly, upset with myself. I almost wish I never lost the weight in the first place. I was in better shape then than I am now that I've let myself fall out of shape: my fingers feel swollen and stiff, my leg occasionally swells, I've lost my flexibility, I tire easily, and my blood pressure, sigh, I don't even like to think about that.
This achilles tendonitis (happened in October) has been more burdensome that I thought it would be; it's eliminated many things I usually do-- I had to drop out of boot camp; I can't pick back up with my speed walking; and I can't do the WiiFit because I don't want to further mess up my heel (I already tried). The only things the doc says I can do right now are water aerobics, bicycling (gotta buy a bike), and/or the elliptical. The apartment I moved to in October is STILL building the fitness center and the pool. With my income, buying a gym membership is out. So I've got to wait on the fitness center/pool to be completed (hopefully, they'll be done this month).
I'm lost as to what to do, what I can do while waiting for my foot to heal (I keep messing it up by jumping or running).
In the meantime, I'm staring at the black numbers displayed in window beneath and between my feet.
257.2. Smh.
QoMV
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