Reward Points

Well, I discovered I was 3% down in body fat, so this week I let myself go.

Bad Bridget!

I've promised to myself over the next two weeks I will be very intentional to be at the gym every evening I'm not doing holiday things. Otherwise I'm going to compromise my year commitment. It feels good to have something worth striving for.

I realized something very interesting over the past few days. There was a time I strove for holiness. I'm not saying I have necessarily stopped, but as you've read in the past entries, I really despise guilt. And guilt has bound me to many things: like my language. Today at a restaurant our waitress shot salsa out of a container; Nik and I laughed, but she said, under her breath: "Jesus!". And it shocked me. Like it always does. But then I thought, "Why does it shock me?" People who are non-religious don't think about it. They just say it. I always think about it. I am intentional with my swearing each time I utter a swear word. But I feel, lately, I don't hold myself to the same standards because I don't care to. I no longer justify my actions, but do them without regard. I suppose, in a way, I'm rewarding myself for years of dealing with jerks and trying to be good. Now I realize "good" might not revolve around doing things for guilt's sake.

Another reward: I want to be able to wear a bathing suit this summer without crying for 30-60 minutes prior to appearing in public. It's one of my big motivators. When I was younger, I used to day dream about wearing cute summer dresses and going on picnics with my boyfriends (or usually ex-boyfriends I hoped to win over by my stylish slenderness - I of course would wow them with several months after the break up because I would obviously start exercising and lose weight and become pretty and popular). But, now, I imagine just smiling while sunning myself on the beach feeling more confident about my body. But. I still don't understand why I feel that parading in my "underwear", I mean, swim suit, is so catching.

Nevertheless, I have got to stop rewarding myself with food. I am not Monica Geller. Although, my husband would definitely argue that.