I'm not even really sure what a "Come to Jesus," moment is; but if it means you finally saw the friggin' light and wanted to slap yourself across the face after seeing it... that's what I had.
No one can lie better to you, than yourself... but pant sizes tell the truth!
And mine were busting their seams.
I used to be a runner... not a good one, but someone that ran regularly, so... a runner.
I was really missing the silence and quiet time in my head that I used to get from running (I currently CrossFit, which gives you more of an, "Is my brain exploding!??!" feeling).
So I hopped on our treadmill, and happened to glance over at the mirror next to it (I would bet 99.9% of CrossFit gyms in the world do not have mirrors in them).
In that mirror was a white, blonde, bowl full of jelly... running to nowhere; jiggle, jiggle, jiggle...
I could hear the cellulite shaking.
I threw up in my mouth a little bit when I realized the owner of all that jiggle was me.
I have always been pretty hard on myself, but this time I am for real... all that jiggle was not pretty.
The saddest part of that run was that it was super easy for me.
I banged out the miles no problem.
Which told me that I was in shape, but a really shitty one.
Like a pear-circle-mammoth-breast-feeding-boobs combo shape... and it was probably (definitely) all my fault.
One too many pieces of every kind of pie at Christmas did me in.
So, I cut the crap, literally... and got real with myself.
Meats, fruits, veggies, nuts.. six days a week.
My body started to change pretty quickly, which tells me it didn't want or need all that crap anyway....
Except one day a week... I gotta do it, and I do.
That 7th day of the week, I eat whatever I want, because I can, I will, and no matter what anyone says... I should.
I know myself.
If I don't have a cheat day, you will find me sitting in a freezer at BJ's with half a package of frozen cookie dough in my lap, and the other half down my throat.
I would sleep there if I had to (that's why they make snowsuits... for freezer sleeping, duh), but damn it, I would finish that box.
That's just how I roll... I love me some raw eggs and butter.
Last week I ate perfect down to the last crumb everyday.
I ate so freaking good, I felt like my skin was glowing like an alien... it is not normal to eat so well.
The better I eat, the less I want to cheat lately..... until last Saturday night.
Our babysitter made cookies... and I swear to God I just wanted to sit on the coffee table and tip that plate into my mouth like cookie monster.
I did not give a shit who was watching, or counting how many I had eaten... (if you can count to "allofthem," that's how many I ate).
Which brings me to the sign I wrote for myself the very next day, on the 5 x 5 chalkboard we have in our kitchen.
(Luckily, Lovebug cant read, or he would definitely be dropping, "dog shit," in conversation like the best of them.)
Being a Mom means remembering 9 billion things... so, this big giant sign in my kitchen is my cue to remember something for myself.
Falling off the wagon hardcore sucked, my body ached and hated me for a full day.
I felt guilty and tasted butter in my veins (it's a thing).
Next time this wagon is going for a detour, not a whole new route... a little bump in the road, a quick cookie, one and done... that's the new plan anyway.
Everything in moderation folks...