I'm not giving y'all numbers or anything, but when I stepped on the scale this morning I was terribly sad-faced.  I want to write about ponies and puppies, not my poor pony's poor back after lugging my tubby ass around.

I've written before about how I felt that I needed to lose about twenty pounds.  Then that slowly became 25.  A loss like that doesn't put me at a traditionally "skinny" weight (y'all should realize that nothing about me is traditional), but it gives me a balanced body without being a bobble-head and eliminates the fat-hoards that my body makes (namely, my gut).

I had started losing a few pounds (I lost five) through diet - literally counting every single calorie that I ingested and adhering to a low-calorie diet.  But this recent three-day weekend blew that shit out of water.  Pizza?  Sure, let's eat two!  PAULA DEEN'S LUNCH BUFFET?!  Why, yes, I would like a fried green tomato with pimento cheese to top my veggie burger, perfectly complimented by some deep-fried french fries.  Oh, yes, let's do the vegetable tempura and the vegetable yaki soba.  With plum Sake, of course.  And a couple margaritas.  And some beer, because I like it.  Oh, and dinner's pizza would be best served with an entire bottle of cheap-ass, sugary Arbor's Mist.  That I polish off solo, just like the pizza.  Yo.

Today, I think my body is in shock.  A bagel with low-fat cream cheese and leftover lentil soup (frozen, from the same batch that I fucked up and then wore).  And unsweetened green tea and water, water, water.  I'll let myself have a diet Dr. Pepper as my 3 PM reward for not going Office Space on this place.  Dinner will be something cooked in lightness, made from scratch and controlled.  And, slowly, I'll get back to where I was and continue the plight.  I mean, fight.  Yeah,  continue the fight.

Which brings me to another topic:  fitness.  I may be chubby (I hesitate to call myself "fat", since that doesn't help my self-esteem and isn't completely accurate), but I'm fit.  Fit as fuck, actually.  Below my bits of jiggly, I have muscles.  I lift heavy objects, comfortably and repeatedly.  I run, maybe not super fast, but I can go the distance.  Almost every single day has some physical activity, between the riding and the lifting, or even just the .87 mile walk to my car every afternoon.  While I've been remiss in attending the last few weeks, I have started taking yoga to improve my balance and the simple cognizance of my body's movement.  How many times have you been told to drop a shoulder without ever having realized that said shoulder had risen, again?

Fit, but chubby.  Stocky?  Stout?

See the quad?  See the roll? (Ps.  This is my brother, who is one of the smartest people I know.)

I think the 13.1 would have been much easier if I had shaved off some plushness.

Skinny, not fit. (See.. I have no muscle tone.)

Fitness seems to be a transitory thing.  A process.  And as a fit person who eats too many sugar-laden calories (god, we just bought two packs of Twizzler's, too), my goal now is to be less fat.  I want these muscles that I've been busting my ass over to actually show.  And I think the Archer would appreciate the loss.  Also?  My previously-obese and now-gorgeous husband just gets better-looking every day.  It's motivational.