I just might..

have that damn wagon in my sights.

I have managed to log every single last bite of food that's gone into my mouth for five days straight. It's amazing how fast my calorie consumption drops when I force myself to be aware of it. It is definitely a lot easier to say, "NO!" to a 9 p.m. milkshake run to Sonic when I know that I've already eaten 200 more calories that day than I'd planned.

Granted, there've been a couple days where I've eaten such a gluttonous lunch that, come dinner-time, I was in a pickle. The thing is, under normal circumstances, I wouldn't have even realized where I stood and would have gone on to eat an enormous dinner too. By keeping track, I'm able to force myself to stop and think and make a decision that perhaps it's better to have a big glass of water and a cup of veggie soup or something for dinner instead of half a pizza.

I'm also finally swimming again. There are few better appetite suppresants than seeing my thighs, in all their brilliantly white cottage cheesy glory poking out the bottom of my TIGHT size 16 bathing suit.

I'm down 2.6 pounds so far for the week...with a day and a half to go. If I can keep on this path and maybe catch that wagon, I just might start giving my ass a run for the money again.

An old friend...

of mine recently told me, "the wagon I fell off turned the corner and I can't even see it anymore!"

It was such a perfect description of how I've been feeling the past couple years that it stuck in my head.

Yesterday evening, I was out in my backyard picking wild blackberries. (Yes. We DO live in the far outreaches of suburbia.) I noticed I was standing in the middle of an enormous fire ant bed. (Yes. This is as bad as it sounds.) When I noticed that I was about to get bitten by about a zillion of God's most evil little creatures, I hauled my fat ass out of there at light speed! I moved because my life (not literally, but it felt that way) depended on it.

Thing is, my life DOES depend on me moving my fat ass.

This is just a quick update to let everyone know that I'm on my way to catch that damn wagon.

If you see me running after it, feel free to give my fat ass a push!

I just found out...

that I am not fat enough to be the next "Biggest Loser." Unfortunately, I AM fat enough to qualify for weight loss surgery. I don't even have to have a co-occuring medical problem such as diabetes or high blood pressure (thankfully, I don't - YET!)...I'm just plain old fat enough. I am seriously considering this option.

I've been trying to get my weight under control for nearly two decades now. I have bits of success here and there. I've gotten down to a healthy weight many times but never manage to stay there.

Just when I put out a fire...whether it be my own illness or injury...or dealing with something going on with someone I love, another starts. Just a week ago, I sincerely thought life was smoothing out. My husband and I were actually thinking a much needed vacation could be on the horizon. Then, BOOM!!!...I was hit in the face by the heat of another blaze.

I wrote a post a couple years ago about "re-starting" when I'd fallen off the healthy eating/exercising bandwagon and a couple of my friends took issue with it. I still don't know why. Isn't that what we do in life? Fall down...get up again...fall down...get up again? Keep repeating that process until we find our balance?

I've yet to find mine. I'm still looking.

I met someone recently whom I could identify with on a lot of levels. We're dealing with a lot of similar problems and feeling a similar level of grief about certain things in our lives. The similarities end there, though. While I "handle" my issues with food, she handles hers with running...not just any old sort of running...but competing in marathons and triatholons and such.

I admire her. She's learned how to channel all the hard times and hard feelings into something positive. I admire her and I envy her as well.

I realize that a lot of you sort of expect my blog posts to be humorous. I'm sorry if I've been dissapointing you lately. I'm just not feeling particularly amusing. Life's been hard for a while and I've been dealing with it poorly...only doing what I have to do...ignoring, for the most part, the things I want to do...shoving stress back down my throat along with bbq ribs and ice cream.

I want to break the cycle.

I HAVE to break the cycle.

I NEED help to break the cycle.

I wish I knew where to find it.

I walked...

a 5k today to show my support for the National Alliance on Mental Illness (NAMI.)

I know a lot of people that would have ran. It took all the juice I had to walk. Houston isn't a particularly hilly place. We're only a hundred feet or so above sea level. Growing up, the biggest hill any kid could find to use as a ramp for their skateboard was someone's driveway. I swear, during this walk, I was transported to another state. The nice flat road I saw at the beginning of the walk morphed into a black diamond run somewhere in Rockies.

My knees hurt. My back hurts. My feet really, really, really hurt. The little spot on my forehead between the top of my Team Normal Schmormal visor and my hairline got sunburnt and THAT hurts too.

But...

I finished it.

I didn't run. I didn't even walk quickly.

But...

I didn't quit.

And that's saying something.

One step at a time...