I'm a Quitter...

...and sometimes that's okay.

I don't mean in a clever "I quit soda" kinda way.  (Cause I didn't.)

I tried a new class at the gym last week called "Sculptonic".  It was a weights class/dance routine/boot campesque class.

And I sucked out loud.  5 minutes into the class I was miserable.  Watching the clock every few minutes counting down how much longer I had to endure the torture.  About 20 minutes into the 45 minute class we did mountain climbers as our "power" move.

As my leg fat was pulled down by gravity, pulling my legs inward became too much for me to mentally take.  Watching your own fat jiggle while feeling like a huge idiot/failure isn't a good combo.

So I left.  With another 20 minutes left in the class I just walked out.

At first I considered how it would make the instructor feel, but she's one of the more popular teachers so I convinced myself she'd not be offended.

I'm here to tell you that walking out was the nicest thing I've done for myself in a really long time. 

I probably abuse this song.  Its just a fun song about a good excuse for a bar fight, but it really does mean so much more to me.

You see, last Wednesday I ran out of Aces.  I could have stayed, and drained myself of every self esteem chip I had piled up on the table.  But folding was the right choice.

Sometimes tracking food, trying to stay "on the wagon", trying to earn a chip - whatever you're putting your effort into - can be too heavy a burden to carry. 

Folding is okay. 

Walking away is sometimes necessary.

Running away is sometimes prudent.

Take care of yourself above all, and that sometimes means going away from what is best physically and heading to a place that's more healthy mentally.

Thank you my beautiful readers for putting up with me through thick and thin, and the size 6 in between the two.  I hope to have more glimpses from the road to health and sanity along the way.  Love yall!