It's the cheese. Help me Rhonda. Beer is the Lover that Done Me Wrong.

Okay, here I am. I hadn't weighed in for about 3 weeks. Things were on the upswing anyway, but a beer-laden vacation has led me to a not so savory revelation. I looked at my charts, and I'm uh, well, the heaviest I've been in about 2 years. I know that in the grand scheme, this all means nothing, but I'm feeling a certain gravity to this, and I know that my work in life is to pay attention to what I eat and what I weigh (and how my trousers fit) and how I feel, and I gotta admit that this, right here, where I am, is not ideal.

It didn't happen overnight. I went astray. Well, not so much astray as I let stress and the unhealthy reality that is/was my gob, take over. I kept exercising, which is a huge achievement in my world, but I didn't stay focused on my health, and that's a big, big problem.

I do think Fall/Winter is conducive to chubbifaction, but it's also my work to resist that draw (or kind of tread water with it) to the best of my ability. Unfortunately, I got sucked out.

I'm giving myself an internal pep-talk right this minute. Really. Oh, and I'm reworking my New Year's Eve menu. It's gonna be light and tasty, I swear. Yeah, and that gob, I'm gonna get outta that. Really.