Crap

I gained 2.6 pounds this week. I know why. I ate too much on two days without properly keeping track. I didn't exercise enough. And on the day of my weigh-in, I ate some salty Chinese food. Probably turned into 2.6 pounds of water.

I went to the weigh-in so down on myself. I'd had this conversation many times before:

"You gained weight, you know you did."
"I know. I feel it."
"You ate too much, ate the wrong things, and didn't exercise."
"I know. I know."
"You know, with all your other faults and bad habits, which so badly outweigh your good stuff, that you are a bad person, right? You know that, don't you?"
"...yes. I know."

So I went in and got on the scale and gained much LESS than I thought I did. But I wanted to talk to my leader about it. She took a few minutes to listen and then give me advice. I always stop at this 20 pound plateau. I feel so much better that I figure it's good enough. But what would another 20 pounds feel like? And another? I don't remember.

She gave me good advice and I just wanted to cry. What a doofus. The only grown man wearing a shirt festooned with guns in a Weight Watchers meeting full of women, wanting to tear up.

Then she suddenly gave me a big hug. Ok, I teared up. Are you happy? I did it and I was a little embarrassed, but she teared up, too, and said she was proud of me for coming to the meeting and for asking for help.

When I got home, Cindy gave me support, too. That meant more than anything. She spoke kindly to me and told me that the week was over and this was a new one.

Thanks, hon. Oops. I mean, "Thanks, Hon." You deserve an upper case H.

Thanks, God. For making me smart, healthier, for giving me faith in Jesus Christ, beautiful sons and daughters, grandsons and granddaughter, the best parents, brothers and their families, in-laws, wonderful friends, and a job.

What more can I say? I'm tearing up, again, and I'm at work and neither of these guys will hug me. And I'm not asking them.