So. 301.8 pounds. A 6.6 pound gain. I am not a happy man, right now. Because I’m back where I was on June 25, when I last weighted in at 301 pounds. You know. Six weeks ago. The worst part is, no matter how much I want to, I can’t blame this on anyone or anything but myself. I’m the one that overate and didn’t hit my exercise goals, after all.
Now comes the tricky part. As my wife reminded me yesterday, when I was moping around after weighing in, it’s really easy to get discouraged by something like this. Really easy. Because, when setbacks happen, it’s really easy to look at them and say “well, I screwed up royally, so I guess there’s no point in trying. Time to drown my sorrows in a quart of ice cream.” (She didn’t quite say it that way, but it was the substance of what she said.) And I could even feel that attitude trying to take root in my mind, because I had a sort of “eff it” response to eating yesterday. I didn’t bother to track my calories, or stay on budget, or anything.
That’s not the best response to gaining weight, really. Saying “screw it” and eating more, I mean.
But that was yesterday. Today, I’m back on it. Because I’ve come too far to let a week’s bad behavior beat me. I’ve still lost 117 pounds, which is nothing to sneer at. And Sunday, I’m going to be back under 300 pounds. Because, as I keep saying, this isn’t a diet I’m on. It’s a lifestyle change. And just because I slipped, doesn’t mean I need to give up.
I can do this!