Passion or Obsession?

Other than my hands being glued to my laptop all day, and taking care of my kids, the gym has been an escape for me for almost two years.

One of the first things I think about in the morning is throwing on my workout clothes and driving to the Weight Club.

At first, going to the gym was solely to lose the weight I gained while I was pregnant with my daughter( seventy freaking pounds btw), but after awhile, working out and changing my diet and lifestyle became a passion.

One day I just stopped and took a good hard look at what I was putting in my mouth and how it could be affecting my mood and energy. It's not just about how many calories something is, but what harm or good it was doing for my body.

A can of pepsi is 100 calories, but so is a yoplait real fruit smoothie. Obviously the smoothie is a better choice, but it wasn't a choice I was making. I am ashamed to say, I was drinking probably five to six pepsi's a day. ( OMG YUCK!) Drinking your calories is never smart, and sugar turns into fat anyway.

When I first started working out, being on an elliptical or a treadmill for more than five minutes was painful. :( And painful to watch I'm sure. I looked like a buffalo with three legs trying to run in a stampede. The cramps, and the way my legs felt like jello....ugh! It felt like torture. Let's not even talk about my first spin class... picture me, in the last row on the verge of puking and crying. (Pathetic)

I never gave up, and kept pushing hard every day. Pain and sacrifice got me to my goal weight, and then some.

Cookies are my favorite thing in the world!! I'm the girl who could sit with an entire bag of oreo's and a big glass of milk, and just keep on dunking. I have honestly lost count of how many cookies I've eaten before. Saying no, an eating a handful of grapes instead was hard, and it seemed so unfair. Oreos are milk's favorite cookie and my favorite snack... or, WAS my favorite snack.

But I decided I wasn't just fighting to be in shape, I was fighting to prolong my life and keep my health in check. It might seem like the little things we do don't have an effect on us now, but it catches up. When your sixty and you have clogged arteries, a heart attack, or diabetes, you'll wish you made smarter choices.

Your hair, your nails, your skin, even the rate at which you age is all affected by your lifestyle and what you eat.

And you tanning bed freaks out there, you think that sexy glow is hot now? Just wait until all those harmful rays come back to haunt you. You'll look like a dried out prune if you don't ditch the hot box, and lather up with SPF 100 at the beach.

Is this post obnoxious? Maybe! Do you wish it ended about five paragraphs ago? Yes, you do! It's okay! Is it something to seriously think about? Hell yeah it is!!

The way life is in general makes it extremely difficult to make smart healthy choices. Every road you turn down is a fast food restaurant or a bar. ( Don't even get me started on the effects of smoking and second hand smoke.)

But taking small steps everyday is one step closer to a healthier happier you!! Sometimes, I feel like I want to just give up and eat an entire cheesecake with chocolate melting down the sides. But then all my sacrifice and hard work would have been for nothing.

Start tomorrow!! Instead of that Cinnamon bun or chocolate donut, try Multi Grain Cheerios's with fat free milk or a whole wheat waffle with jelly!

It's not dieting, because that NEVER works. It's just eating the way your body needs you to eat to live longer and healthier! Lot's of rest, because your body craves carbs when you are tired, and water is now your new BFF.

When Clear Skies turn GRAY

Throughout my twenties I have always felt fairly attractive. I work out on a daily basis and like to think I smell good and at least attempt to look put together.
(Note: There is at least one stain on my clothes at any given time thanks to my lovely children, and my socks never match!)

I was extremely excited to hit the gym this morning since both my kids will be home with only me for the next two days. Those few hours alone to work out and not be bothered by three hundred questions is bliss.

I hop in the car, crank up my music and start adjusting my rear view mirror when something glistens and catches my eye. Was it a spot light accentuating my beauty? I can only wish.(By beauty I mean the dark circles under my make-up less eyes) It was not just one, but a cluster of gray hairs on the top of my head. Completely shocked, and annoyed, I flung open the car door and ran back into the house to examine these three little strands that were staring me right in the face. Hell, they weren't staring at me, they were practically dancing around my hairline.

"I'm only twenty-five, and this isn't supposed to be happening to me yet," I yelled at my husband when he asked, "What is that matter with you?"

After several failed attempts to pull them out, I rummaged through the kitchen drawer for a pair of scissors. There is something very annoying about a gray hair. They.Do.Not.Come.Out. Pulling on a gray hair turns it into a pogo stick apparently, because as soon as I pulled mine, it bounced back into my scalp and sprung into a tight curl, making it impossible to get a good grip on.

Thank God for scissors because I had to cut them out. Relief was short lived because I realized that if I continue to pluck and cut out every gray hair I find, I will be perusing through a wig store before I make it to forty.

We really can't let that happen, so unless three more gray hairs come to the funeral of the ones I cut out, I am okay for now. If not, you can find me cleaning out the hair color aisle at Walgreens.