If I ever had to run for my life, I would probably die.

Soooooo...I don't think I've ever run a whole mile in my life. Seriously. I hate running (well, and exercise in general, if we're being honest here). Like hate with a fiery, burning passion. And you guys know me, so you know that I'm not exactly what you'd call a morning person. (More like a "wants to kill everything that moves with the death stare in the morning" kind of person.)

BUT. It's been a year and a half, and not only can I not lose the baby weight, I've started putting more back on. It's the second or third time that's happened since Luke was born. It's like I can lose a little weight veeeeerrrrry slowly, but then all of a sudden I'll have a particularly gluttonous weekend or something and I'll have put on another 7 pounds. It's kind of scary to me, because before I got pregnant, my weight had stayed within the same 10-pound range for my entire post-puberty life, no matter what I ate or how much (or how little) I exercised. Getting pregnant seems to have flipped some kind of grown-up switch in my body to where I can't eat like a teenager anymore.

And ok. (We are being honest here, right?) If this were the weight that my body decided was the right weight post-baby and that was just my comfortable size for the rest of my life, I would be totally okay with it. I don't feel like I've got my self-esteem pinned to a dress size or anything. But I'm not physically comfortable where I'm at. I'm more tired than I should be, and I really can feel the weight slowing me down when I put on more pounds like this. I feel sluggish, you know? It's like I've gone from Tigger to Eeyore, while still trying to keep up with Luke. I lose my breath running around the playground (trying to keep him from falling to his death, ha ha). I'm chubby in places where I never have been before, and it's starting to affect how flexible I am. Not to mention the fact that I've got a closet full of clothes that I can't really wear, because they're all a size too small. It makes me a lot more self-conscious and it zaps my confidence in social situations, because the whole time I'm thinking about how chubby I feel (or how my pants digging in at my waist is making me nauseated) instead of thinking about making new friends and being kind to other people and having fun. I can't even find bras that fit anymore, because I'm too big around through the ribs for the size of bra I should be wearing. Not cool.

I'm 25. I'm too young to feel worn-out and flabby. Something's gotta give.

I've been trying half-heartedly to diet the weight off for the better part of a year, but obviously that's not doing enough. So. I can't really get the cardio exercise in that I am going to have to do while Luke is up and about (not yet, anyway...maybe when I'm amazing and really good at exercising I'll figure that out), and I'm too tired by the time he goes to bed to be motivated to work out then. That leaves mornings...EARLY mornings. Le sigh...