Math is not my strong suit, but I know the "week" number keeps going up, and the "pounds" number is staying the same. (Yes, I also see the gap in dates, no need to go there...)
But now that it is getting nice outside, the inevitable truth that I knew already is before me: I wish I had done it back when I started it. That said, I am proud to report that I am once again off the couch and onto the treadmill. I am a little sore, but it is that familiar, good kind of sore.
I reflected a bit on motivation in general, and determined the short-range problem for me, which I have to think is universal: No immediate results.
It's not like going to the barber with long hair, and emerging with shorter hair and a different look. Or a trip to the eyeglasses store to get different frames. Or even a shopping spree for new clothes. The hard fact is that I take a flabby body to the machines, abuse it for a bit, and leave with the same flabby body, now sore and sweaty. No fun, no results, why keep going?
But that's the key in all this. Persistance above all else. It's not freakin' rocket science, but I guess I needed to take a look at the fact that 11 weeks of my life are gone, and I have nothing to show for it. If only I had listened to myself back then, I would be in a better place today.
The kind of change I am going for is not going to just happen because I wish it to, or because I put forth a half-ass effort. And I can make all the excuses for my lack of advancement that I want to, but it doesn't matter. I know better. Now I have to prove it.
And not to you, whoever is reading this. To me. I already know all the self-defeating demotivators that lounge about in my head, and I have to battle them.