It's easy to be overwhelmed. I am. Sometimes, when I think about the amount of weight that I need to lose it makes me want to sit down and a) cry b) eat more chocolate and/or c) lose the will to live. Despite all of this, I have one affliction; I am afflicted with this tiny thing called 'hope.' I'm full of hope that my life can be better, that I can be better. It's the eternal optimist in me that rears her dreamy head every so often if only to whisper in my ear that everything will be all right. It's what keeps me sane.
For whatever reason, this time I am determined. Like a dog with a bone, I'm going to deal with this. I'm going to fix it, acknowledge it, own it. And if I fall down and have a piece of chocolate cake, I'm not going to beat myself up over it or use it as an excuse to slide into a food fugue. I'm going to be the Zimmer girl that I am and brush myself off, take the bull by the horns and get on with it.
When I was back in the US at Christmas, I met up with my friend, Patti. She was profiled here last summer with her 95lb weight loss. She has maintained it and credits her boot camp workouts as part of the formula for her success. But she said something to me that has stuck with me ever since. I had mentioned to her the overwhelming feeling of having to lose so much weight and she agreed and said that yes, it was hard, but it was doable.
Doable.
For the past month, that word has boomeranged around the inside of my until it has become my mantra. Doable. I figure, if anything, Patti knows. She's got the 95lbs off to back up that statement.
So I work on replacing my attitude of mission impossible with doable.
Doable, oh how I love that word.