I dragged myself on four walks this week.
I say "dragged" because that's what it felt like. I cannot say I enjoyed one of them. I was exhausted after work; it was disgustingly hot and I hadn't been eating properly during the day so all I heard with every step was "Why even bother?"
Every day I've felt my fatty thighs rubbing together and my hips jiggling. My once muscular arms currently resemble tuckshop lady flab and no amount of push-ups appear to make a difference.
Needless to say, it's been a horribly discouraging week.
And yet, a teensy part of me is proud I bothered to go on those walks - even if they were short and painful.
Tonight I've tried desperately hard to recognise what I achieved as opposed to what I failed at this week. I have to wonder at the human brain - how is it that we focus on our downfalls even when there are victories present? It might be baffling that someone as positive as me could think such detrimental thoughts about myself, but I don't feel I am alone in this self-deprecating cycle. I think we all, to some extent, prefer to view ourselves in a negative light despite the people and situations around us that suggest the opposite.
So here I am, at the tail end of a wretched week. After all the "I'm gonna do better!" talk in my last post, I was reluctant to admit it hadn't been an extraordinary turnaround for me. I am humbled by the difficulties I've faced and I can see that it won't be an instantaneous change. I must tackle it day by day, or week by week. I must remember that the habits I've built were constructed in a lifetime and it's impossible to break them down overnight. I must try again, for nobody said the road to a healthier lifestyle would be a piece of cake (as much as I might wish cake was a part of the equation).