I was doing so well. I was keeping track of my points and racking up miles on my already worn out shoes. My Nike+ pedometer was about to blow up because of all my gym time and all the extra steps I was trying to take.
It hasn't been the holiday treats like I thought it would be. In fact, I haven't even really seen any of those around to tempt me. It wasn't the holiday frenzy of parties or errands or whatever else that derailed me. No, it's worse than that. It's the blahs.
It's been a blah week, what with all I've had to get done. And I have fallen off the proverbial wagon. Know how I know it's bad? My formally never gym darkening husband turned weightlifting superstar (in the last month-- wow!) took note of my blahs and said "So... how long has it been since you went to the gym? Maybe that would help you feel better?" Before, he would have said, "Come sit by me on the couch" or "Wanna go get ice cream?" He's right. Of course he is right. I would feel better if I would go. But all I want to do is have a pj day and get stuff done around here...or not.
It's bad, folks. It's a case of the blah-humbugs, which doesn't much make for a non-pudgy parson.