Fat girl running

You could say I have a love/hate relationship with fitness or maybe I am just really lazy when left to my own devices. I had reached the point with working out where I was actually scared to go back to it. I had been eating a lot of chocolate (and anything else with sugar in it) and feeling bad about it but then smothering those feelings in more chocolate so as you can imagine my weight has been creeping up. I am currently at the age (over 10) where my pot belly is getting increasingly less adorable as the days go by and there's only so much magic those hold you in garments can work. Plus I think there's a limit to how many of them you can wear at the same time without dying.

 I have been spending the week mentally preparing myself for the possibility of re-entering the gym and I am aware this sounds ridiculous but I find after a long hiatus it's actually quite difficult to get in for the first class and I have a wonderful ability to talk myself out of it when the notion occurs to me. I think instead about the extra sleep I can get and how I am really too tired and that I have enough stretchy pants so I can mostly pretend I am still the same size. I am still eating sugar like an absolute loon and for some reason I can't seem to cut back on that. Its like some very fattening comfort blanket I am clinging to. I did start a food diary in the hopes that I would start to eat less junk but I think really its just cataloguing my gluttony. Then again I know this move towards being healthier isn't going to be a fast one. 

 Last night I had the onerous task of finding something to actually wear for the gym visit. Sadly thinking about going to the gym does little to reduce your overall body fat ratio. I could get into my running leggings (oh so stretchy) but I'd be lying if I said they were comfortable and after much rummaging I came up with a vest loose enough to hide my wobbly upper half. Miraculously, this morning I found myself actually getting out of bed as the alarm went off and pouring myself into these clothes, then driving to Clonmel hoping I didn't lose my nerve once I reached the gym.

 Best of all I actually managed to survive my first Crossfit class in months. I think this was partially because my coach took pity on my scared face and scaled it down for me but also because I got lucky and there were no burpees planned. I find nothing like a return to working out to make you realise how horribly unfit you have become in time since you've last been. Especially the bit where you have to run (and there always seems to be running) and all your fat jiggles so much that you're not sure which bit you should be holding on to. Or the part where your running leggings won't stay up on your chubby tummy and you have to keep pulling them up lest you accidentally flash someone much fitter and throw them off their stride. I was really glad when I got to the end the class and not just because it was over. I had finished it and not died. This time around I didn't need to stop because I felt like I would pass out (this is not my first time returning after a long break). I looked sweaty and disgusting but I was able to walk out of there knowing the next class will be easier and there will be a next class.

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