I'm not sure when it happened, but sometime during the first year-plus of marriage, I decided that buying bigger pants every time my ass grew a size was an acceptable thing. Because eating another bowl of ice cream is far more enjoyable than running.
I started to notice the weight gain this summer. My clothes were a little more snug than usual. But, as usual, I put off exercise until after vacation ... after Jerry's birthday ... after all the Halloween candy is gone ... after the holiday season.
Pretty soon I had put off everything except the lard congealing around my thighs. And now it's going to take some work.
Don't get me wrong, I know I'm not obese or even fat. In fact, many of my coworkers were surprised to hear that I'd gained a whopping 18 pounds since my wedding. But knowing that someone is required BY LAW to love you no matter how many peanut butter cups you shove into your maw, is a hard realization to shake.
But I've finally had enough.
BUTT, I've FINALLY HAD ENOUGH!
So I started running again. It's been five days. Five completely horrendously miserable days. Everything hurts: my thighs, my shins, my abs, my arms ... and I'm not sure, but I think even my hair hurts a little.
And I know this is the hardest part. The first few weeks where there's all pain and no gain. The only difference you notice is in the way you feel: tired, sore and in desperate need of the comfort food you're denying yourself.
But now is when I need to stick with it most. Because otherwise I'm going to have a lot more to sell on eBay. Namely my pants.