This morning, the Higgs Boson discovery was confirmed by additional data analysis. Pope Francis picked up his own bags at his hotel on the way back to the Vatican last night. Another eighteen people were blown up in Iraq for no particular reason. And what am I concerned about?
I just saw 137 pounds on the scale for the first time ever.
Having spent much of my adult life as a size 5, I find this horrifying but not a surprise, given the following facts.
1. Last year, our golden retriever Leo died and walking a dachshund takes about 30 seconds; plus: we recently moved to a house with one staircase instead of three and the yard is so big, I use a lawn tractor instead of a push mower. These changes have eliminated the last little bits of natural exercise I had in my day.
2. Having entered the Totally Obsessed phase of writing, all other activities have fallen away. I write until I’m so blitzed, I just slump on the recliner and push buttons on the TV remote.
3. I’ve eased off on hormone replacement therapy because two doctors were nagging me about that, and now there’s nothing but my normal little old lady metabolism left. Which sucks.
4. Don and I recently discovered that we like a drink before dinner. So we’ve both added a bunch of calories a day, but we don’t drink enough to not care that we’ve put on 10 pounds.
So. Here’s the plan. I am going to make a last-ditch effort to get a grip on things before I have to declare that I am officially Letting Myself Go. For the past few months, I’ve been posting my word count for the day on the Mary Doria Russell Facebook Page. This evening, I will start posting the number of minutes I do on the (dusty but operational) elliptical machine upstairs. I’ve never been one for consistent exercise, but I’ve never enlisted the power of public shame before.
I’m totally out of shape, so I’m going to start slow. Two minutes twice a day is four minutes more than I did yesterday.
Oh, and margaritas are out. Even the “skinny” ones. Really. I’m serious.