I hate falling off of the recovery wagon. Hate. Hate. Hate it. Every time I think I’m solidly buckled in ....here comes a bump in the road. Seat belt flies open and here I go , falling on the side of the road on my head.
I then get up, dust myself off, and debate getting on that blasted rolling cart again. Being honest here, sometimes I just want to just give up. Let that cart head on down the road without me. I get tired. Bone deep tired of always having to be hyper aware. Constantly counting protein. Wondering if I got enough good fluids for the day. Fighting the soul deep cravings for carbs is the ultimate fight for me. And there are times I lose that fight. I will lose a small battle and other times, I lose so brilliantly and epically that I amaze myself.
Yep. That’s my mental conversation I have with myself when I’m standing beside the road wondering if this is all worth it.
Then I sigh really big, square my shoulders, and take off after that damn wagon.
It’s worth it.
I am worth it.
The battle may be long and tiresome. Attacks from the rear (hi there menopause!) can throw you off course. In the end, when all is said and done, I want to be able to say I never gave up trying.
Have I mentioned how sore I am today from kicking it up a notch at the gym yesterday? Mary, Joseph, and the baby lambs!! I’m walking like I’m 100 years old, but guess what?
I’m sittin’ tall in the wagon.
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