I've run for miles. I've let Jillian Michaels shred me. I've lifted my exhausted body off our very comfortable couch late into the night to cram in a half hour of exercise before falling asleep. I've said no to dessert. I've said no to vending machine snacks. I've posted my weight online. Many, many times.
I ran a 5K the morning after a short bout with food poisoning.
I've forked over $30 a month, every month this year, for a rec membership.
I've forked over money for a Boot Camp class that will start in November.
I've worked out on vacations and on work trips.
I gave up alcohol, then meat, then chocolate, than fast food, then eating out.
And none of that was the hardest part.
The hardest part of the whole year was the very first night -- early January -- when I walked into our local rec center weighing 178 pounds and whispered to the stick-thin teenage girl behind the counter that I wanted to sign-up for a one-month membership.
And then I walked into the weight room, over to a treadmill, and ran for one solid minute.
I hadn't run for one solid minute in nearly 10 years.
It was hard.
The hardest part was the first part.
I've slipped up and overindulged and gained when I should have lost at various times over the last year. It's taken a while to lose 32 pounds and it'll take a while still to lose the rest.
But whenever I think of getting back on track or trying harder tomorrow or undoing the mess-up of that third helping of dessert, I always think of that first night, that first minute of running, that first step toward that first pound lost.
And if I could do that, I can do anything.
Take your first step.
Take it today.