I knew It was possible. Perhaps It was probable. But I continued to rest well with the knowledge that I’d always have the tools and the talent to avoid It. I might come close to It but I would never actually let It happen.
Long time followers of mine know that returning to Onederland was my primary goal for many years. Onederland? Oh you know, that blissful state where your weight (in pounds) begins with the number one. When your number begins with a two, or three, or more, Onederland can be as wonderfully alluring and painfully out of reach as the fabled city of El Dorado.
A nasty bout of cancer four years ago thrust me back into Onederland in just a matter of days. And I was okay with that. You may or may not know it, but cancer kinda sucks. But this aspect of it was okay. And at that moment I swore on six bags of Hydroxydaunorubicin, that I would never squander that golden opportunity.
I came close to screwing it up at the end of 2012. At that point in time I had, for just one day, crossed the line back into Twoderland. Panicked, I got my 0.10 ton butt back into gear and successfully avoided disaster. Since then I’ve marked “195” as the Edge of the Forbidden Zone. If I find myself creeping back up and hit 195, all the alarms go off.
Fortunately, I did more than just “avoided disaster.” I even did so well during 2014 that by Thanksgiving I somehow found myself below 175. “Holy crap!” I thought at the time. “I may just have this thing licked!” Sadly, in 2015, the “thing” I had “licked” turned out to be 147 gallons of ice cream. My diet for the most recent twelve months has been a very strict alternating regimen of “try” followed by “fail.”
As mentioned on this here new blog, I’ve been under additional stress this spring and that has not done a body good. Still, though, I hovered in that 190 to 192 range and even though things were bad, they never got Bad.
Until this week: 193. 195. 197 . . .
What the hell . . . the Forbidden Zone . . . are you kidding me? What kind of universe do we live in where a guy gains weight after eating only fifty thousand calories every week!? Does nothing make sense any more?
Then It happened. On Wednesday morning. After seeing 197 on Tuesday I kinda figured it’d be 197 again. (I tend to hit the same weight for several days in a row.) So imagine the child-like wonder and delight I expressed at seeing 200.0 glaring back up at me. Three pounds overnight. Perfect.
After blinking in disbelief for all of one and a half seconds, I then made a lot of weird noises and said a lot of bad words. I ran downstairs, grabbed my phone, and snapped the picture accompanying this post. And in an instant, The Switch was back on.
The next day (just yesterday, May 26) I hopped back on and had returned to 197. So maybe It was just a fluke this time. If so, it was the fluke I needed to get my 0.10 ton butt back into gear. Again.
The good news? This is it. Oh, I can feel it. Diet #120 will definitely be the one.