Running Away From It All.

I have to be honest about something; there is nothing in this world that is quite as boring as being on a diet. There, I said it. Even the dreaded 'd' word.

When you're trying to lose weight, the first few weeks are exhilerating. You monitor what is being shoved carefully placed in your mouth, you make the time to work out and you are generally pretty thrilled to see the numbers on the scale grudgingly go backwards. It's the perfect motivation, and you keep at it. You're in the zone, baby. But then . . . the novelty gradually wears off.

It's a few months later and you're a few kilograms lighter, even if your evil clothes refuse to budge sizes. You still don't enjoy exercising, even though people constantly tell you that you will eventually warm to it, and after trying all sorts of different activities. You stick with the same pattern of eating, you get paranoid about eating out and you have the tendency to blow tiny/accidental splurges into mammoth snacking sessions. It's just not fun anymore.

Oh, and the scales? They are your mortal enemy.

Hell yes, I'm talking about myself in this entry. [Results not typical.]

I've come to the point where at 11am, I just want to eat a fucking hamburger or three. I find myself glaring at people sitting in cafes who are innocently enjoying their meal without having to think about it. I think about food all of the bloody time. I put off exercising until I absolutely have to, instead of getting it over with quickly and enjoying how I feel afterwards.

And worst of all I am so, so critical of myself. I gave myself the goal of knocking Jason's socks off when I stepped off the plane on Christmas Day, but I'm nowhere near that goal. The problem with having set a standard for myself, is that I feel like crap because I haven't achieved it yet. I feel like I will be a disappointment. Since we're being honest, I'll even share my stats with you. (OhshitwhatamIdoing?)

In January, I was 95kgs. (209lbs) In September, I was 82kgs. (180lbs)

Don't get me wrong, I'm damn proud of myself for getting this far. And even if my belly roll hasn't subsided any, I do feel a lot different. It's just that here I am, months later with a long way to go. And my motivation? It has run off kicking and screaming for the hills. I'm not enjoying any part of this process anymore, and what should be some of the finer things of life are being replaced by over-thinking and over-analysing. And scarily, I'm setting myself up to fail; my subconscious is well and truly kicking my arse right now.

So, what can I do about it?

Option 1: I can whinge about it (always a great option, if you ask me) and keep things going the same way.
Option 2: I can give up (and spoil all these months of hard work, would rather not though. Obviously.)
Option 3: I can try to fix things. (Easier said than done.)

I want to get back on track, whinging along the way of course. But instead of being a food nazi, I'm going to focus more on how I move my arse.

It is with great long-winded pleasure that I introduce my October challenge; to see how many kms I can walk and run this month. And you know what? If I'm exercising, I'm totally allowed to have that damn hamburger. You just try and stop me!