My motivation is dead. Pushing up daisies. Toast. Finito. Bitten the dust. Bought the farm. Cashed in its chips. Croaked. Maggot food. Gave up the ghost. Kicked the bucket. Met its maker. Six feet under. Sleeping with the fishes. Swimming with concrete shoes on. Taking a dirt nap.
I dusted off my Harry Potter wand and said “Avada Kedavra”. That’s how dead my motivation is to exercise right now.
After having my son, I just can’t find the energy to workout again. I look in the mirror everyday and feel a bone-deep disgust that I am the size I am right now. The crazy thing is, right after giving birth, I actually lost weight. I weighed less than I did before I got pregnant. Don’t ask me how that happened. But somehow, before I knew it, the scale decided to betray me. Its traitorous numbers kept going higher no matter how hard I begged and pleaded for them to stop.
If I’m being totally honest and real, I know exactly why my scale turned its back on me. I just threw away all of my healthy eating habits. I traded salads for ice cream. Lean proteins for Twix bars. Water for sugary juices. The most strenuous exercise I did was to convert oxygen into carbon dioxide. And that right there is the exact formula for weight gain. And with the weight gain, came an almost resigned sort of acceptance of it. I keep telling myself, “oh you’ll lose it eventually. Wait till you finish having kids so you can really do it. You’re not fat, just fluffy”.
This past Christmas, hubby asked me what I wanted for my present and my instantaneous answer was “exercise equipment”. It is now almost February and the equipment is still in the box collecting dust. I will say the box serves as an excellent coat rack though.
I am trying soooooooo hard to revive my flaccid motivation. But even that takes energy I don’t have. Sigh.