Holy Crap.

I weighed myself this morning after almost a week of not doing so.

And the news wasn't good.

I was up 9 pounds from my "normal" weight when I'm running. That's 9 pounds in five weeks, kids. Nine damn pounds.

And, boy, does that do a number on your head.

It was the incentive I needed to get back on my bike this morning and to push my speed. It was the reality check I needed to remind myself that I can't eat what I want, when I want, how I want.

It was also an opportunity to tell myself that I control this. That I control me. That I am the one who moves the fork to my mouth and makes the bike tires roll across the pavement.

It's hard to not get freaked out. It's STILL hard to not give into those feelings of "Maybe this is too hard and what's the big deal if I quit?" Even after all this time.

I had hoped by now this would be more like autopilot. That my body would remember the struggle and reward the monumental effort from the past two years. But the truth is there is no autopilot. This new lifestyle is work. It's effort. It's a choice I have to make every single day.

So right now I'm reminding myself that I can do this. Because I have done this. And when I did it before, I did on little more than hope and faith. This time, I have the strength from succeeding one time before on my side.

Not sure if that makes it easier, though it seems like it should.