I threw away my coffee maker. It was old and nasty and it wasn’t brewing right and it smelled bad. Really bad. Like whatever I was drinking that was coming out of it could not have possibly been good for me in any way, shape, or form. In fact my coffee was probably making me sick, literally.
Plus also? I’m starting a special…um…lifestyle change today. Because my weight has reached an ungodly number. Because my hormones are straight trippin. Because I’m growing long black hairs out of my neck and I huff and puff out on the softball field and I look and feel worse than I ever have before in my life.
So now you know.
Caleb and I have toyed with the idea of starting this diet/exercise program that our good friends have been raving about for a while now, and today is officially our first day. I wasn’t sure about it at first–how could I give up coffee?–but after a long, drawn-out conversation with my husband after church yesterday, I decided to go ahead and committ.
Him: “Toni, you have to do something–you’re falling apart. Oh, crap. I’m sorry! I guess the black hair growing out of your neck threw me way off this morning.”
Me: “Shut up! You have no idea about the things you are allowed to say to your wife and the things you are not allowed to say!”
Him: “Do you want me to lie?”
Him: “Well, there’s a lot of men that do lie to their wives and then they go out and cheat on them.”
Me: “Fine! Tell me the truth–when the truth is that you think I look glorious. Until then, don’t say anything to me!”
Him: “….is this a trick?”
Him: “Come here. I love you.”
Me: “Go away! I look awful! I don’t even want to hug you with my gross body! And just an FYI: that black hair WAS NOT EVEN THERE YESTERDAY!!!”
Him: nothing. He couldn’t stop giggling uncontrollably.
And ladies, I ask you: who among us has not felt this way at at least some point in our lives? It doesn’t matter how small or big you are–we’ve all had a “gross” day or two. I had gross months following the birth of all my kids. I had gross days even at my very skinniest, and right now I happen to be having a gross year.
I keep telling myself to “find my identity in Christ” and not worry so much about what I look like on the outside, but the truth is that I’m very unhealthy and I’ve been in denial about it for a long time. So much for my body being a temple–I don’t exercise or eat the way I should, and it’s showing. It’s affecting my energy levels, my hormones, my mindset–which in turn affects my parenting and my marriage.
And so committ I did–but not alone. Caleb is right along with me, chugging nasty shakes and chomping on more vegetables than can possibly be natural. We’re “detoxing” and drinking water like it’s going out of style. We took a special trip to the store for new running shoes (our old ones were well over 3 years old). Last night came the moment of truth: we both weighed and measured and posed for the camera.
Which means my husband actually watched, with his own eyes, as I got on the scale.
He knows what I weigh.
And yet, he seemed less surprised than I was.
Our friends are helpful–they’ve stayed on us through phone calls and texts, making sure we are eating at the right times and staying hydrated and whatnot. They’ve been very supportive and it’s only Day 1.
Our kids are in on it too: Cheyenne knowingly and lovingly asks me if I’m doing okay without my caffeine fix. (I think I am. For now.) Merrick’s busting my chops to get outside and ride bikes and play baseball and dig in the garden and chase grasshoppers with him. And Mia’s totally on my case about everything I do or do not put in my mouth, and she says she wants her mommy to be fun and beautiful again.
So, if that’s not motivation, I don’t know what is.