My goal. It isn't that crazy.

I'm writing this as sweat is dripping from my forehead and arms onto the keyboard.  I am unashamed.  

When I flew out of the nest and into the dorm ten years ago, I gained weight.  Not even the freshman fifteen.  More like...the freshman five.  Unfortunately, I subsequently gained the sophomore seventeen.  Then the summer six.  And by the time I was 20, I weighed 164 pounds.  (I'm not ashamed to tell my weight.  If I were embarrassed, I wouldn't be writing this.)  I hadn't stepped on the scale since my physical for sports in high school, but I knew it would be bad.  It just took the jolt of seeing my not-so-attractive bikini photos from spring break to bump me into action.  So.  I lost 24 pounds in about six months.  

Then I met my future husband, stopped working out, got married, got pregnant, gained 35 pounds, had the baby, lost 25 pounds, got pregnant again, gained 30 pounds, had baby number two, lost 30 pounds, gained about 10 back by eating leftover macaroni and hot dogs, then we had to move.  So over the past year, I gained another 18 pounds.  

Obviously, my struggle with weight has seen cliffs and valleys.  Every time I lost weight, it was on exercise alone.  This time, I have decided to change not only my appearance, but also my attitude towards food and overall health.  I have been on a not-so-strict diet of around 1200 calories per day, and I have been working out at least three days per week, but most weeks I'm planning on 4-5.  

This is my struggle.  This is me.  Today I have 30 pounds to go.

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