It's just a number

Eight people read this blog.

Okay, eight people follow this blog.
Maybe only three people read this blog.
I am not really sure.

One reader is my mother. Hi Mom!
One taught me to breastfeed. Hi Becca!
One I've known since I was in 8th grade. Hi Alison!


Hell, Lucio isn't a follower. Uh, hello?

Not one of you eight is under the impression I am small.

And yet I have spent the past couple of days considering making my pants size in the last blog post a size 20 or 22.

Cause that is so much better than size 24.

That was totally what you were thinking...right?

I don't plan for this blog to be weight loss blog.
I just want to create a discipline to write.
I would like to be called a writer.

But then a few friends reached out after my last post about being a cliche, and offered such support that I need to update my beloved 8 on my quest.

Today is Day 2.

I hit the treadmill both days for at least 30 minutes. On an incline. A little one.

I brought lunch both days. Snacks like oatmeal, yogurt. Freeze a Yoplait Whips. The lime is divine!

Tracked my food.

At 7 pm (central time) I stepped on the treadmill. I turned on the televison and the season premiere of Biggest Loser was starting.

I am concerning myself with telling 8 people that I wear a size 24, and these people are getting weighed in front of their towns?

Families, teachers, colleagues, friends and strangers alike.

Are you fucking kidding me?!?!?!!!!


I think Bob should have to at least show us his dick.

Jillian flash a nip or something.




I am so happy I tuned in tonight.

And I am still a size 24.

But not for long...