As soon as I feel like I’m making progress, I find myself losing motivation and even possibly self-sabotaging my plans.  I may be overreacting, but I’m beginning to wonder just what is it that I’m doing to myself.

Yesterday, I realized that I’m a size 14 and am quickly headed towards size 12.  Size 12 seems to me to be a fairly “normal” size.   Like, not terribly fat.  Like farily normal.

Today, I didn’t go running and I didn’t really watch what I ate.  I didn’t do horribly but I also was fairly reckless.   I am now filled with self-loathing and am a bit depressed.   I am wondering if I can really do this.

But this time, I’m stopping myself and I’m asking what’s going on.

I’ve thought about this a lot.  Not just today.

The best I can figure out is….it’s fear.

Being fat is fairly safe.  No one really looks at me.   Not really.    Being fat means hiding behind baggy, frumpy clothes.

Being fat means not having to participate.  In Life.  There’s an excuse to not do things.

Plus there must be some emotional crap that caused the weight to accumulate, so that will be bound to start resurfacing now that it’s coming off and I’m not eating to keep the demons at bay.

The math of calories in/calories out is easy.

Exercising 3 – 5 times a week is easy.

Anyone who says its hard isn’t even trying.

That is the easy part.

The hard part is this other stuff.  The emotional dreck that bubbles up to the surface just when momentum starts building.

What it is?  Why am I getting in my own way?  I’m not sure yet.  I hope I can either figure it out, or even just acknowledge it and not let it stop me.