Committed or Crazy?

So, I know what it's like to be committed to something, and I know what it's like to have someone committed.  I found myself thinking about this word during my Zumba class tonight.

What statement am I making by starting my journey in the middle of the Holiday season?  Am I thumbing my nose at temptation, trying to ride above it all?  Am I trying to get a head start on my New Year's resolution (I have now surpassed the decade mark for this #1 "This is the Year!" statement that turns out to be anything but resolute) so that it can't possibly run me down, run me over, and then shriek with laughter as I stumble more than I step?  Is this commitment, or should I be committed?

I was tired tonight, and I didn't really want to go workout.  And this is just the beginning of long working days, grad school classes, and long evenings that will last for the next couple of years at least.  I'm going into this new round of weight loss with the same gusto I have attacked all previous attempts, and that's not what worries me.  I'm a great starter...but I have never allowed myself to finish the task.  I've only ever allowed myself to get halfway. 

Can I afford to let myself wallow in excuses?  "I'm tired.  I'm too busy. It's the Holidays (my birthday, your birthday, someone's birthday...)"  It's not a question of whether or not I can get away with it.  I'm an adult, and I make my own decisions, but I have to make no mistake, I will pay for it.  That's another truth I must own.  Come hell or high water, if I keep doing what I am doing to my body, I will die an early, and most likely extremely painful death. 

So, some may think I should be committed for starting this journey again, and at this time (and they have already told me so), but I honestly think I should be committed if I don't.  200+ pounds is crazy, and I have to take ownership.

Yes, deep for a third post, maybe.  But I've also told myself that if I'm going to blog this journey, I need to be honest about it.

As for tonight's Zumba class, let's just say that I was still feeling Monday's today, and so I will probably be feeling tonight's tomorrow!

Zumba Zoinks!

So, remember Scooby Doo?  Remember the extreme use of the explitive "Zoinks"?  Well, I think I may have discovered the reason.

I think it is quite possible that Shaggy participated in some extra-curricular endeavors that kept him in a rather comfortable daily groove (Scooby Snacks indeed).  However, the series of misadventures he and his sidekicks managed to bumble into would increase his adrenaline and clear his system a bit quicker than usual.  "Zoinks" resulted when Shaggy could suddenly feel every single muscle in his body as he ran away from one ghoul or another.

How did I come to this conclusion?  This morning, when I got out of bed...Zoinks!  No, I wasn't running from any sort of goblin or evil park owner looking to kill me for foiling his plot to take over the world, but I was definitely feeling every single muscle!

But feeling it in a good way, I think.  Yes, I am sore, but sore in a way that I feel like I've begun a journey, and I've already accomplished something.  So, I think I'll be going back for more tomorrow...Zoinks!

The First Threshold

250. The first threshold.  I swear to God, last week I was 245.  I have no idea how I jumped ten pounds.  Well, okay, so it might have had something to do with the Chinese food, pumpkin pie, turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and the chocolate covered caramels I consumed while practically crippled by a random strained back.  (Now that one, I REALLY have no idea about.  This having been my first experience with back pain from hell, I would gladly go the rest of my life without going through that again.)

                So, back to the first threshold.  I made my first steps in making my way back into the 240s today.  I took a Zumba class.  And while it’s called Zumba, I will probably think of it as “Humiliate the rhythm-challenged fat girl by surrounding her with mirrors, skinny pretties, and placing her ass smack dab in front of a window that looks over a weight room filled with hot men” class.  While I am sure this is the proper name, I can see why they may have shortened it.  Who would knowingly walk into that?

                I’m not going to lie, at one point while I was shaking my derriere in my best Shakira (okay, more like Shamu) fashion in front of the window, I considered bolting.  My keys and water bottle were directly behind me.  One quick spin move, and I could be gone (I was willing to sacrifice my towel).  Who could honestly blame me?  I’m sure some on the floor outside the class might even consider it a humanitarian effort worthy of award (cessation of cruel and unusual punishment is usually seen in a positive light, after all).  But, then I realized it would only ensure my continued impersonation of Shamu, and that is just not acceptable. 

                So, I took a deep breath, and shook it with the best of them.  Come hell or high water, I will face down the pretties, the mirrors, and yes, even the hotties beyond the window, all in the name of crossing thresholds.  250, you’re in my sights, and you’re going down.