A blog in which I discuss the fact that reality bites. Really bites.

Well, well, well. It’s Sunday morning and I’ve managed to eek out another week without doing any major physical damage to myself. If you know me personally, the fact that I didn’t clutz myself into ER is and will always be a great accomplishment.

I did something shocking this morning. 

I mean, seriously shocking.

I got on the scale.

I stared at it for about three minutes before I actually put my fat ass on the scale.

Reality Bites.

reality bites


I can’t deny it any longer. My ass is the size of a small town in West Texas. There, I said it. I can blame it on a lot of things, but the reality is, I am not as small as I once was, and only I can control what goes in the food hole.


Holy hell. The number wasn’t kind.  The number was, in fact, a disaster. But that’s ok. I’m back to reality (and it bites) . I know what I need to do. I know what I should eat (fruits/veg/protein) and what I shouldn’t eat (pizza/Fritos.)

Why reality bites: I am no longer young. I no longer can wake up, decide to lose 10lbs and have it knocked off in a few weeks. Alas, I fear that this is going to be yet another long road trip to less large.

The bad pup and I took a walk this morning- felt good to stretch and move. I’m happy to report that the cankle is stronger than it has been in years and for that, I’m more or less content. I’m a little annoyed to realize that the left ankle isn’t nearly as strong as the right, but I can deal with that. If I can make it through the summer without accessorizing my wardrobe with das boot, I’ll be just ok.

So, back to reality…

  1. Meal planned for the week. I’m about to head into the kitchen and prep all the things so the siren song of Chik-Fil-A doesn’t distract me this week.
  2. Staying on the wagon for a bit until I can get this food thing under control.
  3. Shooting for 15 miles (walking) and perhaps shall darken the door of a gym. Maybe, no promises. Visiting my friend who works at the Y does not count. Yes, Emily, I own it.
  4. Need to do something about my arms. Seriously. Why do I have my mother’s arms? Why couldn’t I get my dad’s arms?

I’m on a mission this week. I’m on a mission to have a good week. I’m on a mission to be uber productive with worky things. I’m on a mission to fix the cluster that is my house.

I have things to do, miles to walk, awesomeness to spread.

Cheers to the 2nd month of my 40th year. May it suck less and have a little fun tucked in here and there.

Since this post is a nod to the movie of the same name, might I suggest this for a morning listen:



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