You are what you eat.

Without question, I have been working out enough to lose weight. I vary the intensity on that effing elliptical - being sure to play with the numbers, create goals, and change things up to keep myself from going insane, and keep my body from anticipating what is next. I work at a minimum level 3, through levels 5, 7, 9, and sometimes even go to the highest level of resistance - 14. Never less than 150 strides per minute - because for me, that isn't good enough. I make sure I sweat enough to see the numbers on that goddamn scale move downwards.

I weight train twice a week to gain much needed muscle and change my body composition. I love how strong I have become. Seeing new found definition in my arms and shoulders is a thrill. I know that the more muscle I have, the more calories I burn - even when I am not working out.

The scale isn't moving. Obviously, it is not the exercise that isn't working.

Which only leaves the food.

F*cking food: It is my nemesis. And yet I need it to survive. How fair is that?!?

I love food. I hate food. The foods I love most, are the foods that are the worst for me. And my ass. And my health. I think about food all the time. I try to make good choices, plan ahead, count, weigh, track, and measure. As often as possible, I avoid temptation. Sometimes I fail moderately. Sometimes I fail miserably. I never stop trying. There are still occasions when my emotions get the better of me, and I find myself turning to food for comfort. Trying to fill a void or stifle an issue that I cannot always identify right away.

So this is me, continuing to try.

Fresh, whole, clean, natural foods. Heavy on the water, zilch on the empty liquid calories. Increase in veggies, decrease in chocolate. And pub food. And cheese. Watch the sugar intake, limit the carbs, bump up the lean protein. No. White. Death.

I don't really do 'resolutions'...so this is me, keeping on trucking...

xoxox
~J