One word: Y O G A
This morning, as I did my final stretch, sweat dripping from my nose, my chin, my elbows, I was filled with gratitude. Gratitude for my body–limitations and all, gratitude that I made it– that I showed up, gratitude for my breath and my mind, gratitude for doing something good for myself. I signed up for a month. I’m hoping to go three times a week.
Don’t get me wrong. I still hate it. It’s hard, it’s hot. See that little white space underneath the arm of the silhouette? That doesn’t exist for full-figured gals like me. It’ll be a long time before my forehead kisses my knee. Yet I feel so good afterwards. And it makes so much sense to me…stretching and elongating my muscles. I have no idea how many calories I’m burning in the 90 minutes. It doesn’t really matter. I’m moving, stretching, twisting, and for now, I’m showing up.
Made some homemade chicken noodle soup (with gluten-free noodles!). Still eating clean. I breezed through Halloween without so much as a single M&M. It was easy. I had no desire. And I’m convinced if I did have an M&M, I would have been tempted, perhaps beyond my control, to eat more. Such is the poison of sugar.
Hit a milestone last week: 1/3 of the way to my goal at 194 lbs. I’m probably losing some ground, but I’m staying the course.
Namaste.
Why It Matters 