Dear Diary,
Phew. I made it through the weekend. It wasn't a given. It was tough. A donut. Three cookies. I almost hit the soda. I thought it was over. As the Alchy would have said, I fell off the wagon. I could feel myself growing back to my size of a month ago. And for a second I was ok with that. I felt like it was inevitable, so why try? But I did. I figured I was good when I walked away with a cookie left in the bag. I went back to my plan. Fruit, trail mix, decent food and exercise. Me and the EBG (which is growing by leaps and bounds. I've even granted a chapter to the daughters) went 21.2 miles last night with another double up of Sons of Anarchy. If they can keep riding with the ATF and the Mayans chasing them, so can I. Except I'm running from bad foods and sugar. I'm glad that I got through this moment of doubt before I left the 250's because once I leave them I plan on hopping on my bike and not coming back. I'm gonna ride off into the imaginary sunset that is the lighting in my garage. F*** you fat.
PS. F*** you too diary.
PSS. Scale, we're cool for now. Just keep going down, before I have to put you down.
PSSS. It's also time I dust off my old weight loss motto, courtesy of Jay-Z. "Get your swagga back daddy. Where's your focus at?"
PSSST. Hey Diary. The Sons of Apathy logo is yawning, don't really care if you noticed. Also it remains in place because I'm killing this s**t.
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