I've had enough! Enough of the videos, enough of the diets that don't work, enough of my plastic scale... so I broke down and went back to Curves. I have been contemplating doing this ever since I found out Hubby has a high school reunion in exactly... 4 months! Yeesh! No time to waste.

So this morning I talked about joining Curves to my Hubby and he said (his exact words): "I'm fine with paying the $39 a month for you to go, as long as you're actually going to do it. I don't want to pay for something that just sits around and that you don't take advantage of." So I very calmly, but sternly, pointed out that he has a dirt bike and a go kart in his garage that "sit around" and don't get taken "advantage of" most of the year. He just kind of looked at me and said I was right (then bells and whistles went off because Hubby NEVER admits to being right). Then I sucked in my gut and headed for Curves...

When I got there I had a big knot in my stomach... I wasn't sure if it was anxiety over joining or if it was from pepperoni pizza I had just scarfed down. Either way, I was uneasy. After talking to a nice woman named Debra I was really beginning to warm up to the place, and after sharing a laugh about how it's been awhile since I've been there (I joined in early 2005 and quit promptly in 2006), she pulled out my file. It's good to know all my old body weights and measurements and old goals were still accounted for on my old "fat" chart. Heaven forbid there be a fire in the two years I've been gone that would have cleared all that out for me.

And then Debra walks me over to this large, looming, doctor-type of scale. You know the kind that have the little bar you scoot across the top, the kind that always seems to need to "add" more weight... it's the type of scale that basically laughs at you when you approach it. Oh, and a hearty chuckle it got about me! Not only did it creak when I stepped on it (seriously, how embarrassing), but when my "suggestive" weight of 142 wasn't nearly enough to even out the scale marker, she had to move the bar way over nearer to the 150 mark! Talk about adding insult to injury! It was mocking me for sure!

Then Debra took out her little tape measure and measured everything! Arms, waist, chest, hips (good Lord, the hips), calves, toenails... the woman did it all. And I'm trying to be honest, so I would tell her things like "oh wait, I'm sucking in a little" and, "I want it to all hang out..." and so I'd relax and there the fat would go, dropping over my jean's waistline like the top of a cupcake. The misery, the dread, the cold hard slap in the face of what I'd let my body become... the Pillsbury dough boy has nothing on me.

Then as we're doing the paperwork and discussing fat goals and the such, I'm just going on and on about how I'm at the heaviest I've EVER been in my entire life and how I can't believe I've let myself get this big and how I need to lose a good 10-15 pounds in order to feel better about my body... and Debra very nicely says, "Well I would kill to be your weight! Your current weight is my goal weight! I've already lost 20 pounds and I would love it if I were your size." Good grief, I was mortified.

Then Debra starts talking about how she hasn't been there for the past couple of weeks due to some gall stones and rocks in her stomach that are going to require major surgery, and so she won't be able to work out for awhile. Put me in the oven and shut the door. I shut my mouth and had a mental argument with God for letting me go on and on in front of this poor woman. Talk about your lessons in humility! Here she is, already having lost 20 pounds (which I profusely congratulated her on) and is bummed because she can't work out due to a medical illness. Here I am blabbing on like an idiot for being lazy and not taking advantage of my God-given, perfectly healthy, albeit robust, body.

Anyway, so I start Monday and I'm actually pretty excited! Plus, I'll get to buy clothes! And shoes! Let's not forget the Simple brand shoes I attempted to "run" in the other day. That simply won't work for Curves. And I might need a new blush... something that says "sweaty while watching tv"...