So y’all know I walked/ran a half marathon this past March, right? (I actually ran (ok “ran”) the last half of the marathon and walked the first half, which sounds retarded and backward, but honestly, the running was easier than the walking by then. dunno why)
After the marathon, I kinda just stopped working out. And by “Kinda”, I mean, I totally stopped. Like I think I’ve walked twice since March. And I’m not even sure if I can count them because I think I went directly to Cantina Laredo after the walks and fell into a vat of cheese dip and could only be saved from sure death by 2 Antonio Banderas Margaritas. Which I’m pretty sure cancelled out the exercise completely.
I do give myself an A for effort though.
I’m actually a pretty fit “fatty.” I’ve been very successful on my weightloss journey (<– yes, I said journey. You’re welcome.) It started when I lived in Oxford. I had decided to try to lose 20 lbs a year until I was at my goal. And even though I haven’t done that exactly, I have lost 5 sizes, and that’s nothing to shake a stick at. Unless you just really wanna shake a stick.