Goodbye, cake.

I have felt like a drug addict waiting to go to treatment ever since I decided to sign up for the Fitness Challenge at the gym.

I have eaten everything I could get my hands on since I made this decision. Each meal, inching ever closer to my quit date…

My last supper.

I haven’t worked out in ages. I’ve quit going for walks. Sometimes I still do yoga, but not the kind that makes you sweat. I am officially out-of-shape.

I have a very stressful job. And when I get stressed, the only coping skill I have is to eat cake. And for the last year and a half, I have eaten a lot of cake.

I am writing this letter because cake and I need to break up. Cake doesn’t make me feel better. Well, maybe for a minute, but… just like drugs, it doesn’t last. And afterwards, I feel worse.

So, today, we are breaking up.

I have joined a gym. I have weighed in. I have been measured. I have proven to myself that I am as out-of-shape as I have ever been in my life. I can’t even do one push-up. It was ugly.

So, at 205.5 pounds, I am stopping the madness. I have to find other ways to de-stress… to de-compress… after work… and not just after work… whenever I am tempted to use food to change the way I feel.

I have written about this before. I have tried this before. I am not going to let that stop me. I have got to do something different and why not this… why not now?

Goodbye, cake.

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