Smack Me, Please

This is the kind of stupid thing I do.

I had a great weigh-in today. Back-to-back weeks with a loss for the first time in ages. I follow that up with a good day, food-wise. No overeating. Staying within my limits. Drinking the requisite lake full of water.

Then my wife comes home from church, carrying a pizza. Left over from the youth meeting tonight.

Initially, no problem. Just grab the top off one piece and leave the crust alone. Pepperoni and cheese. Fits into my low carb diet, and a nice little diversion from the norm.

Twenty minutes later, I ate a whole piece. Crust and all.

Now, an hour afterwards, I'm beating myself up over succumbing to the temptation.

Understand, one piece of pizza in the course of the week will mean little in the grand scheme of things. But it's that kind of action - that weakness - that has haunted me throughout the last couple of months.

And, really, for the last 22 years or so.

A piece of pizza here, something else there. No problem, I say. I've got it under control.

Next thing you know, BOOM.

Weight gain.

This is my quandry in a nutshell. Constant, daily small battles wrapped inside this huge war I'm fighting.

Welcome to my world, boys and girls. Keep your hands and feet inside the car.