I feel the urge.

The urge to splurge.

Goose to my Maverick.

I've attempted to lose weight several times in the past, and I've bounced between 220 and 260 pounds more times than I care to count. Much credit for my success this time around (205 pounds, still dropping, and almost effortlessly keeping to plan over a year later) probably goes to controlled indulgence. Lots of controlled indulgence. By making, say, a few spoonfuls of ice cream a frequent part of my diet, I'm less apt to eat an entire pint or even half-gallon given the chance. And ice cream no longer even tempts me to commit such fatrocities the way it once did.

Before, I tried to be so disciplined all the time, but I'd hit one of those inevitable little walls, get frustrated and discouraged, and turn to food of the junk variety for comfort. Soon I'd be a fat tub of goo again (still not exactly svelte, but one day) and have to start all over. Going nuts at a buffet or fast food joint when you're feeling down not only undoes the work of several previous days right away; it can make resisting a fall to temptation much harder in the immediate future. The whole concept of comfort food/restaurants flew out the window for me when I made them a common occurrence. They lost the 'comfort' aspect once I ceased approaching them as something to be resisted. Plus the change in attitude helped me to become smarter about my choices when getting freaky with the fat. As smart as you can be about such things, but that's another entry.

I just overcame a significant wall not a week ago. My weight refused to budge for months, but for once I did not feel compelled to run back to junk food's fatty embrace and eat my way out. I won't claim I never felt the discrete pull drawing me down that path, but a fast food run once a week reduced it to easily ignorable levels. Two days ago, watching the scale readout start edging downward again felt oddly liberating.