Fat-10, Annie-0

I think that my fat has an unhealthy fascination with the rest of my body. So unhealthy, that it doesn't want to leave. It cries and whines every time I even mention the word exercise, or even think it. It sobs for hours when I actually attempt to physically remove it through walking, jogging, or light cardio. It's starting to remind me of those pesky burdocks that cling to your socks after a walk through high grass. You can get rid of some of it, but certainly not all.

As of right now, the weight scoreboard for PorkChop is reading Fat-10, Annie-0. Of course, the most exercise that I have had in a month's time includes one slightly slumbering briskly walk around town about a week and a half ago while the weather was nice. Other than that, my fat has been rejoicing at my lack of total attention to it. I keep squeezing it into jeans that make it protest and squeak in terror, finally begging to be released after 2 or 3 hours in said clothing. I refuse to up my pants size yet again and let Fat gain one more point against me.

I went through some of my clothing last Saturday so I could make room in my dresser for others. I ran into jeans that made me want to curl up into a ball and cry the fat off my body (certainly, that has to take an awfully long time, so I decided against it 'cuz of an Ice Hockey game that I had to go to that night). I refused to throw those jeans out, as I have for about.. oh.. let's just roughly estimate... FOUR YEARS. Yup, 4 freakin' years, and I have refused to get rid of 5 or 6 pair of my favorite jeans. Why, you ask? It's simple. Someday, I will be a woman on a mission.

I will be a Laura Croft of sorts, decked out in my cute little sports bra top, hip hugging tights, and killer combat boots. My arsenal will consist of Fat-B-Gone, Ho-Ho-Disintegraters, and Twinkie Annihilator. No fat will dare to stand up to me, and any that does, will be blasted into oblivion. Yeah, someday that will be me.

Until the point to where I decide that great tasting food really doesn't matter, and that I don't need to eat other than to exist, I will have to endure the fat that clings to my waist, hips, and rear end. Like those pesky burdocks I mentioned earlier, I will have to find a way to co-exist peacefully with my fat until I get some willpower.

Did I mention that I'm allergic to willpower? *sigh* Well, I guess that I will have to keep starting and stopping exercise programs (or just mentally saying that I'm going to start one) until the fat decides that I've become uninteresting and leaves me for a new home. One that will nurture it, and love it, and call it George. I think that Kirstie Alley was advertising for something along those lines, maybe it will leave me for her. Ok, I can dream.

I will, once again, be mentally telling myself that I can and will be starting yet another program to rid fat. Not so sure about this one though, how can you turn a runner hater into a runner lover? We shall see. Maybe tomorrow I will link to what I found through someone else's site, called The Couch to 5k Running Plan. It basically eases you into running, so that during Weeks 1 & 2 you look like a blob trying to drag a deformed third leg behind them (a.k.a. FAT), and the weeks after that you actually look like you have done the running scene before, and that FAT has taken to chugging along with you, even keeping pace, until it melts away into oblivion. Ok, all that they endorse is that you might get to the point of enjoying running over a 2 month span. I embellished with the whole fat thing while I painfully recalled my last run in with running.