After a month of sticking to my daily morning walk routine (okay, I did miss a day here and there - what, are you a detective or something?), I have come to a few conclusions. One: No matter how nice a two mile area you live in, you're going to get bored seeing the same real estate over and over again. Two: Certain songs on my MP3 player (sorry, not cool enough to have an iPod) do not inspire additional exercise (Beach Boys, yes; Les Miz, no). And three: I don't like dogs as much as I thought I did.
Since this is the longest I've ever gone with (almost) daily exercise, I thought I would have seen a little more progress by now. I don't own a scale (except the one that measures flour in my kitchen and I'm sure not standing on that thing) but my clothes don't seem any looser and the tape measure doesn't squeeze any tighter. On the plus side, I do have more energy and I am getting to know my neighbors better. But, despite numerous crunches, weight and flexibility training, and a continued effort to eat healthier, my mid-region doesn't appear to look any different. Maybe things are getting tighter inside (those planks are getting easier) but I'm starting to get a little impatient about the outside. I wasn't foolish enough to think I'd be able to rock a bikini by now but I guess I was hoping to see a little less of my long-time friend, Mr. Muffin Top.
So, now what? (Did I hear someone say, give up? Oh, that was me.) No. Maybe I just have to start pumping up the volume a little. Maybe it's time for me to move up to the ten pound weights. Maybe I have to banish white flour and sugar from my diet entirely. (Like that's going to happen.) Or maybe I need to switch it up and ditch the walk every once in awhile for a nice, long bike ride. I could hit the beautiful trail that stretches along the local river down into town. I'd see some new scenery and get those legs really moving.
I just have to remember not to go anywhere near that Sugar Monkey cupcake shop. Those white chocolate raspberry concoctions are killers.
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