Monday morning I gave myself a pep talk, a la high school football coach tearing the kids a new one in the middle of a bad quarter. (Quarter, right? In football it's quarters? I'm improvising here. Shocking admission: I was not a jock in high school. I was on the naughty kid list, much more interested in having a great time doing bad things than joining anything. But then, I bet a lot of journalists fit that description.) Anyway, I was sitting here at 6:30, still sort of wallowing in my diet rut and thinking about my last post that suggested April 1st would solve all of my motivation problems. Suddenly, I realized how stupid that sounds. And the internal ass-chewing commenced.
It went a little sumthin' like this ...
VOICE OF REASON: What the hell?
Me: Huh? Who ... what?
VOR: Listen, you're getting creamed out there. What's this about a cupcake and chocolate on Friday? What's this about skipping the gym on Sunday? And you're actually blaming a plateau on your lack of weight loss this month?
Me: Well ...
VOR: You're not doing anything to help yourself here. YOU are the problem. You're not pushing very hard at all. What are you gaining from sitting in that recliner and feeling sorry for yourself?
Me: Um ...
VOR: Get out your food journal. Instead of recording what you eat after the fact, write down exactly what you will eat today and stick to it. And after that, GET UP AND GO TO THE GYM. And while you're there, I want you to think about what more you could be doing to reach your goal. No more thinking about why you think your body is working against you. YOU are working against your body. Got it? I got no time for pansies, so MOVE!
Me: Actually, yeah. That makes sense. You're right! It's on, man. I've got this!
And that's exactly what I did. I even had a social engagement last night where fried foods and numerous alcoholic beverages were at my fingertips. I drank Diet Coke all night. What the what!?
I feel much better this week. Hopefully my inner coach will come out more often.
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