Self-talk, epistolary fashion

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Sometimes I develop an inordinate hunger. I'll eat every scrap of healthy, high-fiber food in my Mr. Bento, drink liters of herb tea or water, and still be ravenous. (Some days aren't like this, but when it's a Hunger day, well, let's just say it's a good thing I don't have a pet goldfish, okay?)

The other day was one of those days. I was so hungry that I was getting light headed. According to numbers on Weight Watchers e-tools, I was eating an adequate amount of food, but the body didn't agree. It was making a lot of changes and demanding extra supplies. I figured the best thing to do was have a word with the body, try to make it see what I wanted it to do. (Hey Body: rather than taking in food to build muscle, take it from the fat stores.)

So I wrote myself a letter. I described what I wanted the scale to read by the end of the month, and I told myself that I would get to that point if I would accept the hunger and do tonight's scheduled workout. I went further, describing what I was going to look like in three months, what I was going to look like when swimsuits-and-shorts season came around, how good it would feel to be fit enough to walk around without being embarrassed by my shape.

Didn't make me less hungry, but it did make me feel a whole lot more disciplined about the process. I was being hungry because I chose to be. Some people don't have any choice in the matter.

Exercise du jour: Week 8, Day 1 of the C25k. 28 minutes jogging.
Done! Some tendon-y tendency toward complaining, but it got done.