In retrospect

I enjoy reading history, though sometimes I would prefer not to read my own. Today, I went back and read over this blog from today back to it's inception. It tells the tale of a man desperate to lose weight, but apparently not desperate enough.

In 2006, I was at the top of my game. I had lost over 165 pounds. I was running. I was lifting weights. I was finally finishing school after too many years. I was about to embark on a big boy job. I felt exceptional. I was in control.

Then we moved and I began to let things slide, just a little bit at first. I wrote it off to the new job. I saw the expensive dinners as a part of making connections. But my weight crept up. A little bit at a time until I reached the 240s. For a time, I came out of my pizza-induced stupor and got my weight back down to a fairly trim 212 in 2008.  I kept at it for a while, but again, life came at me.

We began to pursue adoption in earnest. Stressor #1. In the midst of that process, my wife was diagnosed with breast cancer. Stressor #2. Some dear friends of ours chose to leave our community of faith, and not on good terms.  Stressor #3.

Excuses all, but I gave in to those excuses.  I took the reins off. In 3 short years, I gained 90 pounds. I did what I vowed I would never do and got back over 300 pounds, even if just for a week. I look back now on my previous stop-gap of 225 with longing.

If I were to continue gaining 30 pounds a year, by 2014 I would be back to my previous high weight of 370. By 2020--well, it's unthinkable.

I wish food weren't a comfort. I wish God had gifted me with self-control.

I wish.

But it is time to stop wishing and time to start doing.