Off the rollercoaster. Finally.

For five months now, my life has been completely out of control, and I gained back a whopping twenty-eight pounds that I'd previously lost. I accept full responsibility for every single fat-causing morsel that went into my mouth, but it really was all too much for me. I didn't have any coping mechanisms to replace the emotional eating that I found myself falling back on. I felt like my life wasn't my own. First the health problems and the resulting surgery, then the loved one's illness and subsequent death, and all that went with that, then the huge project of an informational display to be shown at the Lieutenant-Governor's residence, then being in a hotel room for three days in a different city because of the Highland Games, and then picking up my friend at the airport (which took two days longer than we'd anticipated) ... I feel like I've been waiting for months to get my life back and to get back on track.

Well, I'm back. I think that's safe to say, as I've just gotten through two days of eating just the minimum points (and going to bed starving), and I haven't caved yet. My husband overheard me telling SisKris on the phone (after I admitted to having eaten all the cupcakes but the one Hubby ate) that "The first week is always the hardest." And it is. It's really, really difficult. The Eating Machine has been in "open up and pour" mode for months now, so naturally when I take it all away, it's not happy. It's REALLY not happy.

So as I'm lying in bed grumbling about being hungry, even though I know that the empty feeling means my body is dipping into my considerable fat stores, it's difficult. And Hubby has been there reminding me that "the first week is always the hardest".

I often mutter about having so much weight to lose as being a challenge in and of itself, because it's an endurance test. Watching people all around you reach goal, while you're still sitting there with double-digits left to lose, is really hard on the head. Well, the last five months have shown me a bright side to that situation. When you've lost sixty-three pounds, it takes a lot longer to gain it all back. Having said that, though, I still watched with alarm as my face started getting puffier, and my watch and shoes started getting tighter. Managing to slide back down the hill so quickly has taught me something. I'm pretty much going to have to become a WW "coach" in order to have something external keep me in check. Something I have no choice but to report to.

For the longest time, this blog was what kept me on track. I felt a responsibility to you, Gentle Reader, to check in and let you know how it was going. But when things got really dark, I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed, let alone tell you what was going on. You're good for keeping me honest until things get too bad -- until I hit what we'll call the Red Zone. At that point, it's just too hard to keep going. But things have settled down now, so here I am.

This regaining experience has taught me a lot about myself. The one thing I clung onto these past few months was that I was not going to quit WW, and I was not going to pay for a missed meeting. I had to skip a few weeks for things beyond my control, but I used my coupons, and I have not quit.

This coming Saturday will mark one year since I joined my Saturday morning meeting, and no matter how much ground I've lost lately, I'll still weigh in as forty-or-fifty-something pounds lighter than I was when I first walked in the door. And that says something. It's a testament to my friends I go with, and the WW program, and my "coach", ML. But most of all, it's a testament to me. Ultimately, I was the one who tracked all of the nutritional info, who smelled her husband's traditional 10 PM french fries and closed her office door, who went to bed telling her stomach to shut up, and, ultimately, the one who did not quit.

These past five months, I can honestly say, have been the most physically and emotionally difficult of my entire life.

And I'm still here.

Let's continue the journey, shall we?