I am sacking the angel on my shoulder. She is fired, canned, sent packing. She is very lazy, and doesn’t argue enough with the devil about anything, and I end up just heading towards the easier options. I am having a very badly behaved week, eating poorly, and the angel occasionally dangles a carrot but I ignore it and head for the KFC and donuts.
No more carrot, it’s time for the stick. I can’t picture myself as I want to be, I don’t have these glorious visions of myself in a dream outfit or anything that truly motivates me. So what I need to do is picture myself as I could be, if I don’t do something about this weight and these terrible habits. Picture myself heavier than I am now, because that is the way I am going.
- I have borderline high blood pressure, according to my last few years of checkups at GP, blood bank, etc (they always look at the reading, hesitate, say “it’s a bit high” but so far no suggestions of needing treatment)
- I am at high risk for type 2 diabetes (genetic predisposition as well as my weight) and the older I get the higher the risk will be
- I also am aware of the potential for hip, knee and ankle problems as I get older, as I’m observing in both my Mum and Dave’s Mum
Those are just the immediately obvious ones, there are many more health complications.
Let’s be harsh about the vanity stuff too, if I continue to gain weight I will never be happy with the way I look. Okay, I have my good days where I forget about it, but then I catch a reflection or see a photo sometimes and suddenly go “hang on, I’m twice as wide as the friend next to me”. What happens if I outgrow even the ‘plus size’ clothing chains? Sewing bed sheets into giant flowing caftans? I honestly don’t know, but I honestly think if I ate what I wanted and sat down on that couch for a few years it could happen.
If I never get this stuff under control, I can’t possibly justify making plans for a baby in my future. It would be inconceivably irresponsible and stupid for me to even think about it. Never mind all the things they say about fertility issues when you’re obese, what about the complications if I did get pregnant? The risk to that baby, the risk to my own health, it would be just … phenomenally stupid of me. So if I want to think about having babies in a few years, I have absolutely got to start getting my act together now, not then.
So I am sacking the angel on my shoulder and I am replacing her with a Commando Steve type trainer. I know not all readers of this blog are Australian, so here’s a little bit of info about who I mean:
(Yes, I confess to being a Biggest Loser watcher, despite some of my misgivings about the show. I don’t like the humiliation side of it all, and some of the temptation challenges and game playing and things like that. But it is amazing to watch people transform, and as an obese person myself, it does kind of get you day dreaming.)
Anyway, this isn’t really about having a little tattooed muscle man on my shoulder. This is about having an imaginary friend who is going to yell at me to stop making excuses. Push me to exercise every day and increase the intensity of that exercise even when I don’t want to. Be scathing about what I am eating and push me to make nutritious choices and cut back these calories I am consuming at a train wreck rate.
That list I wrote of goals to achieve by my next birthday? If I don’t choose better imaginary friends to push me onward, I am not going to reach the weight loss goal, which is still a long way from my goal weight. I have to get rid of that lazy little angel, hire that angry little trainer and get real.