On the wagon again.

I have been begging for a gym membership for the past few months. It was never the right time: Payton was too young for the Kiddie Camp, he was in the hospital, or was recovering from a stay at the hospital.

For Mother's Day, I got a three year pre-paid membership to 24 Hour Fitness. Hooray.

Now all I need to do is fit back into my workout clothes. My pants are too tight around my middle. My tops are too tight from my baby-feeding boobies. The only things that fit are my left shoe and my right shoe. Well thank goodness. I need to have the shoes so I can drive my fat ass over to the gym so I can fit into my workout clothes again.

I think somewhere I mentioned that when Payton was so sick and barfing all the time, I thought that if I ate more, he would eat more, or at least there would be more calories in my milk. Wrong on both counts, but I was so desparate! All I wound up with was 15 pounds of baby fat that is stubbornly clinging to my middle and my ass. I would like to loose another 10 pounds on top of that as well. But really, all I care about is fitting back into my clothes. I refuse to buy any more clothes that are 3 or 4 sizes bigger than I'm accustomed to buying. Refuse. And that goes for workout clothes too.

I met with my trainer for the first time of Thursday. I'm not sure if I like him or not. He's kind of a prick. He just graduated with his masters degree in physiology and he thinks he's the shit. He rarely cracks a smile. I think I shall make it my mission to get the punk to laugh. He has two weeks. He's making me keep a food log. Ugh. Yuck. Gack. Guh. I HATE doing that. He wants me to count calories. Ummmm... OK. Have it your way. So off I go to count calories.

The biggest hurdle for me is cutting out the sugar. I swear I went into a full-on jones yesterday. All I could think about was a damn ice cream sandwich. I would have even eaten vanilla ice cream (the horror!) I was so desprate! I made it through. I satisfied myself with a cup of mellon (54 calories) and a protein bar (210 calories). Good gravy. I guess that's better than the pint of Ben and Jerry's that I was wanting to devour. Yea me.

I go back to see the torture master punk tomorrow at nine.