My challenge comes to an end

The last few weeks have been hard. My motivation has been terribly low, and I’ve hung on to the challenge by the barest of threads. I found every possible loophole to exploit. I wasn’t losing weight; I was backsliding. I was miserable… but I didn’t want to quit.

Jay and I had a long talk about it just a couple of days ago. He said if it was just about the money, he’d cut me a check right then. That wasn’t what I wanted, though. Having that goal out there gave me something to hold on to. I figured motivation was cyclical. I just needed to find some new something to get me jazzed again.

Yesterday I had a doctor appointment to go over blood test results — my first since starting the challenge. The appointment was at noon. Considering how much I’d been pushing the boundary lately, I didn’t want to go to a weigh in with a bunch of food in my gut. So I didn’t eat yesterday morning.

The appointment went well. I was teary and depressed and confessed the difficulty I was having. We went through my results, and they were admittedly excellent. My fasting glucose dropped from 110 to 105. My A1C dropped from 6.5 to 5.8. And my vitamin D3 rose from 18 to 50. The problems I’ve been having with my tendons, both quad and deltoid, are clearing up, which she attributes to lack of gluten in my diet.

She said, “I want to be sure you’re hearing this.” Everything we were working on was improving. The challenge was definitely working.

And yet, I still screwed it up.

Afterwards I was hungry, and I just didn’t want to face the food we had in the fridge. So I cheated. I enjoyed every damn bite AND the accompanying serotin. Instead of fessing up, I tried to hide it (which was seriously disrespectful to my husband). Obviously I don’t try to hide things from him too often, because I got caught.

(Apparently my offering to take the trash out was a big clue. Can’t imagine why that was seen as unusual. Also, apparently the receipt I dropped was also a clue. Husband smart.)

I don’t want to make light of this. I made two rotten choices yesterday. I chose to go off the challenge, and I lied to my husband. He forgave me, but the challenge is toast, and I am… bereft. I think this might have been the biggest failure of my life. No, I do not want to hear about how I accomplished all those good things the doctor talked about. I had a 12-month goal. It was important. And I failed.

I didn’t sleep much last night. I was trying to come to terms with it. Trying to figure out what I do next.

I didn’t find any answers. Mostly my thoughts were, “I’m a lying loser who fails.” I wanted to write that on the walls. Maybe tattoo it on my forehead. I’m a lying loser who fails.

I cried a lot. Thank goodness I have River, who snuggles and licks my face. I wanted to sleep, because everything always looks better in the morning.

Except it doesn’t.

I don’t want comments, but I can’t figure out how to turn them off. I don’t plan to check in and read them, so they’ll sit out there in limbo if you bother writing them. I don’t want comments on Facebook either, so I’m just going to close the site for a while. I don’t want emails or phone calls or, dear God in Heaven, in-person visits.

Eating fish tacos is not the worst sin I’ve ever committed. I don’t care about the fish tacos. I’m mourning the loss of the challenge — the goal, the thing that gave me some reason to TRY.

I just don’t know what to do now.

I’m lost.

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