The final stretch - race metaphors galore
 

I've paced myself. I have been running the race well and I'm so excited about how close I am to the finish line.

But my old habits are creeping back into view, making my shoes stick to the track and making each step towards the finish a challenge. I keep wondering if there's a bungee cord attached to my back, ready to pull me all the way to the beginning the instant I stop my progress towards the finish. The cord will stay there even when I do eventually cross the white line, threatening to pull me back into a race I've already run.

I know there's not - I know that going back to the beginning isn't an instant result of stopping progress. I gained a pound this week, but that doesn't mean I'm shooting back to the starting line. It just means I have to retrace my steps forward.

It's not impossible. I keep thinking it's impossible and I have to get past that. Heck, I look at the numbers on the scale now, and it seems impossible that they are true. I feel like I've cheated my way to this weight, and that I don't deserve it.

I can do it. I can do it. It's going to happen. It won't be easy, but I can do it. And I can maintain it. I never want to go back. Chocolate and macaroni and cheese isn't worth going back.