Eleven years ago, I got a wake up call about my health. The message: change my habits or die. I joined Weight Watchers, started exercising, and vowed to change my lifestyle.

I counted WW points, hired a personal trainer, and started running. In time, I managed to lose nearly fifty pounds — enough to drop from “obese” to “overweight” on the Body Mass Index scale. My doctor took me off several medications. I felt great and had never been in better shape.

Proper nutrition was the first casualty. Snacks between meals and before I go to bed are the problem. My ice cream addiction is serious. Donuts continue to be a problem, and don’t get me started on baked goods or we’ll be here all day.

And then there are the sugary drinks. I rarely drink carbonated beverages. Water either, for that matter. Fruit juices are my poison — cranberry, orange, and homemade lemonade. We’re talking gallons every week.

Making myself go to the gym is a struggle. Doesn’t help that I don know what to do when I get there. I putter around from one piece of equipment to another with no real plan. After 30 minutes or so, I run out of ideas and go home. Never going is a problem.

Tendinitis knocked me off my running game. Took more than a year for it to heal. Getting back into the routine has been a challenge.

The number on my bathroom scale went up a pound or two every few months. Next thing you know, I’ve picked up 30 pounds. The doctor put me back on the meds she’d taken me off of when I was eating right and exercising regularly.


Awareness is half the battle. My routines aren’t working for me. Time to make some changes. Next time, what I’m doing to get back on track.

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