Ohhh, boy.
At some point I decided to give this day over to eating badly. I think it started out of frustration that my Boca burger had dairy in it, but I can't be all the way sure about that. It might also have been a stress-eating sort of day, as I come up on several editing and writing deadlines for school for which I'm not even remotely prepared, or close to finished.
Or it might have been an innocent article in this month's Golf Digest about how certain men's pants are "vanity-sized," meaning they are very often several inches larger than what the tag says, just so that the wearers can rationalize their expanding waistlines. Is it vanity for me to be proud of fitting into size 34 jeans, even though my waistline may not actually be 34 inches around? And what's the point of losing weight anyway, if the designers are just going to lie about the size of their clothes?
And on and on like that, rattling around inside my own head. Just when I think I've got it all under control, something innocuous comes and upsets my mental apple cart. These are subtle but needed reminders that I'm going to have to fight this battle against my addiction to overeating for the rest of my life, if I want to be healthy physically OR mentally.
Today, though, is a story in and of itself. Suffice to say that I think I'm going to postpone this week's weigh-in until I have a couple of hard workouts under my belt, and I have my eating back under control.
The accuser may have won this round, but I'm still standing, though I might be wobbling back to my corner just as the bell sounds. And the fight isn't over.
I take heart in the fact that God's mercy is made new every morning, and next week is a new battle. Tomorrow morning? Back on the treadmill, of course!