The joy of being heavy

It is no secret I am heavy. I know it, and admit to it, and am working to get rid of all the excess baggage. I am steaming in my own sweat right now, after having huffed and puffed 3 miles on the treadmill. And in my head, I continue to hear voices that say, well how could you have let yourself get like that? I could blame the old food pyramid, which placed an inordinate amount of emphasis on fun stuff like pasta and bread. But that's a cheap out, even if it is valid. The truth is, I just didn't pay enough attention to health. Like saving money, health is often one of those neglected aspects of your life. You go on, day to day, without really noticing anything, and then suddenly, you're stacked with debt, or extra pounds. And losing weight isn't as simple as pulling the steering wheel of a car one way to turn; it's more like trying to turn an oil tanker. Very slow, very ponderous, and the horizon always seems to look the same. So after two weeks or so of banging away on the treadmill, and the spin bike, and lifting weights, this is where I am - everything fucking hurts, my arthritic back, my knee joints (going up stairs is like a fourth of July celebration in each knee), my shoulder sockets simply kill, and I tend to be crankier than usual. The up side? Hey, 2 pounds have disappeared. It should get easier over time, but at the moment, it sucks.