evidently, i look better in a bikini than i thought i did.
at first i just put my head down, stuck to my guns and kept working out. i didn’t think about what was actually happening. if i did, i probably would have stopped. and i didn’t listen to anyone tell me that i was fine as a chubby girl, because everyone else was fine with it. i don't want to live by someone else's standards of what's physically acceptable for me. after awhile, i didn't feel comfortable in my own skin. so i created a little program and i stuck to it. pretty soon, i got results. i had energy to spare. my bad cholesterol level went down. my skinny clothes came out of the back of the closet. and then we went to the beach yesterday and i saw some photos of me in the black string bikini i gave myself for my birthday and i thought, gee, maybe i shouldn’t be so hard on myself. i can be such a tough grrl when it comes to plowing through with goals and objectives and such, mostly because it makes me feel so good to get things done. like, wow—i’m not wasting my time, i really am making progress.
or maybe i should keep this whole workout regimen/”tough self-love” thing up, with a little more objectivity though, so i can stay on point. the bikini is an end result of the discipline that has been so good for me. it has seeped into other areas of my life and has had a wonderful effect on my work ethic—and my stress-level, which is virtually nonexistent. i don't know why i take so many things in stride nowadays, but i do. i've learned to pick my battles, i suppose. i am the picture of health and vitality. and needless to say, my self-esteem/self-confidence is through the roof.
all that from working out.