I got a glimpse of how easy it would be to quit.

Of course I have quit many attempts regarding weight loss many, many times in my life.  But this time is different.  Even with my slow progress, I must admit I’m a bit cocky about this process.  I just refuse to accept failure as an option.

So when I went out of town for a MUCH needed vacation with my husband, I wasn’t concerned in the least about my goal.  I have been a steady presence at the gym for 15 months.  I have gone on several vacations during that time.  I go.  I come back.  It’s never been an issue.

But this time I went.  I came home.  And I could not bring myself to go back to the gym.  The first day back I was like a jetlagged zombie.  I just wandered around the house attempting to unpack and re-acclimate myself to life. And that’s ok.  But day 2 dawned and  ya’ll…

I. Just. Could. Not.

I honestly have no idea why.

I had a great trip.  I won’t insult you by suggesting that I ate nothing but kale and unsalted almonds the whole week.  But I actually did pretty well.  And by ‘well’ I mean I wasn’t double dunking doughnuts in the 700 area Starbucks.  I take my victories where I can get them friends.

And I wasn’t dreading going back to the gym.  I didn’t actually even think about it.

Missing the first day was no big deal.  I’m a busy person.  I didn’t feel 100%.

Wanna know the scariest part?  Missing the second day was even easier.  I didn’t even feel the need for an excuse.

By the third day, something had to give.  I trudged through the house, retrieved my workout clothes (i.e pajamas)  and laced up my shoes.

I drove to the gym and developed a pounding headache.  It’s probably dangerous to get on the spin bike with a blinding migraine that might be a brain ailment, right? But I did.  And the pain just got worse for the next 50 minutes.  And when that workout was over, I still had a headache.  Apparently those mighty endorphins are not the miraculous things we were led to believe.  I’m convinced skipping the exercise wouldn’t have cured the headache either.  And if I had skipped class for the third time with no good excuse, how much easier would it be to skip the 4th or the 5th?  I am so thankful that my vacation from the gym was not permanent.

I see how it happens now.  Nobody plans to quit.  Nobody wakes up and says “Sure, I’ll keep paying for that membership for the next ten months but I am never going back.” Nobody buys an overpriced treadmill with the intention of using it for 6 weeks and then allowing it to fill them with guilt and shame for a year before finally sacrificing it to Craigslist.  Nobody does it on purpose.

They say (whoever ‘they’ are) that it takes 30 days to form a habit but I disagree.

I think it takes a lifetime. Because it’s only a habit until you stop doing it.

I keep thinking this whole endeavor is going to get easier.  Or, at the very least, that it will stop being so hard.

And it’s not.

Part of this process for me is grieving the loss of my fantasy scenario.  I have to accept and make peace with the fact that there is no magical day in my future where not being or getting fat will be effortless.

This annoys me.

Good grief ya’ll…I missed week 43 and week 44.

Basically I am plodding through the busiest two weeks of my year and this is the first chance I have had to even write this non-post post.

So hopefully I’ll get all my nonsense wrapped up soon and be able to actually think thoughts again.

And who knows?  Some of those thoughts might actually make it on to the internet.

In my whole life I have never made it through a vacation without eating like a sugar addicted moron…

UNTIL NOW!

When I was growing up, we rarely ate out.  So when we did, it felt like a treat.  And that has stayed with me for so many years.  There’s just something about sitting in a place (fancy or not) and having someone serve me a meal I did not prepare nor will I have to clean up.  That diet landmine can usually be avoided in real life but on vacation?  Forget it. Vacation means no meals at home.  And I generally throw in the towel on nutrition before my mini van even leaves the driveway.  This always makes the post vacation letdown so much worse.  In addition to being broke and annoyed with your entire family, you also get to detox for what seems like weeks in a desperate attempt to get ‘back on track’.

This vacation would be different I vowed.  And the only problem with this is that I vow that every vacation and somehow still end up with a strawberry pop tart in each hand as I watch that first sunset on the beach.  But some kind of way I actually did it this time.  Ya’ll I’m as surprised as you are!

So here’s a list of the stuff I didn’t eat:

• Funnel Cakes – I don’t wanna talk about it.
• Raisins in the trail mix at the hotel – I don’t even like raisins but because I couldn’t have them they appeared irresistable.
• 18 Pumpkin Spice Lattes – There was a Starbucks in our hotel so I want credit for not buying one every time I entered or exited the building.
• A doughnut burger – Yes, this is a real thing.  Yes, it is on my “Eat This” bucket list.  I may have cried a lil.
• Fruit Loops on the breakfast buffet – Not a huge fan of Fruit Loops but they looked so festive in the fancy glass container.
• Spicy Chicken Sandwich – If loving them is wrong, I don’t wanna be right.
• Chili Cheese Tots – There’s chili…and cheese…and TOTS!!!!
• Supposedly the best burrito in the free world. – This was the easiest because the joint looked like it had missed a health inspection or 4.

When the week was over, I declared victory because I resisted it all.

I didn’t starve myself.  I had plenty to eat.  It was fine.

I came home actually looking forward to the weekly weigh in.

I weighed the exact same….TO THE FRIGGIN OUNCE! as I did before I left.

It was nearly enough to send me straight in the arms of that doughnut burger.

But then I did the math.  I’m losing about one pound per week.  Every slip, cheat, whatever costs me about 5 pounds.  So I figure that just by not taking a diet vacation, I’ve saved myself about two months.

And that tastes pretty sweet to me.

The jeans fit.

No.

Not “THE” jeans.

But a pair of jeans three sizes smaller that I could wear this time last year. They fit.  And I can zip them up without employing a coat hanger. And I can sit down and stand up without feeling as if I am being punished.  And I can breathe.  You people who never struggle with weight probably take wearing jeans and breathing for granted.  Trust me when I tell you that the rest of us never do.

Are we there yet?

Nope.

But I think I’m on the way.