My Magic Number

Remember when you were a child and your parents would insist you "say the magic word" and then you'd say "please" in a sing-songy voice like they'd just pulled a string on your back. Whatever you wanted would suddenly happen because of that magic word.

My magic number is kind of like that, but only in that it spurs action. My magic number is a weight that I hit that literally and figuratively hits me in the gut until my spontaneous reactions are guilt and shame. . .and exercise.

Last week, I hit my magic number. I'm sure other people have their own magic numbers. Especially if you've ever lost weight before. I vowed while in the middle of the struggle that I'd never weigh over XXX lbs again  but that number slid up 5 lbs or so when I decided that my apathy was overtaking my need to look decent in clothing.

However, the aforementioned guilt and shame mixed with a pre-work breakdown while selecting an outfit that seemed to look better just a few weeks ago was enough for me to REALLY start logging my calories again in myfitnesspal. Not the fake logging that I do where I start the day strong, but by 3 p.m. conveniently get temporary amnesia about my mid-afternoon M&M gorge or that Venti (which I swear is Italian for BIG ASS) latte with SUGAR! and a side of extra sugar.

The magic number has been hit and my apathy has instantly turned into action. Calories are watched closer than Kim Kardashian by the paparazzi! The gym is left with the funky combination of my morning breath from my panting and my sweat.

And in a few months, the work will payoff. It has before. It will again. Except maybe this time I'll drop my magic number by 15 lbs so I don't let it get this far.

Remind me that I said that in a year when I'm reaching for another cupcake.