No doubt many of you have figured I’ve given up on myself, again. I admit that almost happened.

But not quite. No, I’m back on the wagon, and giving it another try.

A week ago, I returned from a 10 night vacation in Mexico, plus a travel day on each side; nearly two weeks gone. I knew it would be a challenge, and I was sorely disappointed when I realized that my weight the last time I went on vacation, in July of last year, was almost exactly the same. I’ve basically spent a year maintaining my weight, and floating within a few pounds of my low but never surpassing it.

I told myself that when I returned from vacation, I’d do something about it; but I also secretly wondered if I’d bother to go back on plan at all afterward, because I’d gotten so discouraged and just had no fight in me. Not to mention, vacations are a challenge for diets, especially if you plan to go off of them for the duration, and nearly two weeks is a long time.

Instead, I found myself ready to try again. I was frustrated many times during those two weeks; my mobility problems meant traveling about mostly by wheelchair, and the many steep inclines and staircases at our resort meant stress on arthritic knees that required a steroid shot for pain before ever leaving home. Coming down sick while on vacation also didn’t help my level of frustration; it’s already a challenge for me to get out and about, but to do it with tonsillitis (of all things to catch in Mexico, it was my *tonsils* that misbehaved!) sapped me even further.

There was the hassle of airline seats, my own discomfort in bathing suits, and the strange attraction this year of having complete strangers tell me their medical woes. (People, I am in a wheelchair because I can’t walk long distances and it’s a compromise I made so I don’t slow down the people I’m with — not because I want to hear about your detailed medical history.)

I found myself facing a number of fears; the possibility of slipping in the tile shower or getting in and out of pools, inability to climb places for fear of falling, and more. Even more, I was frustrated with not being able to do things easily, such as getting into and out of transport vans without a fuss, walking on the sand, moving around freely on a boat ride we took, climbing steps to a beach bar.

The truth underlying it all was that every single one of these things would be easier if I lost more weight.

Many issues: one solution. Get my fat ass back to work on getting rid of my fat ass.

And so here I am, again, ready to dig in and feeling pretty good about my accomplishments this week; I stepped on the scale on Monday to the bad news that I was 23+ pounds above my low, but I’ve lost 8.6 pounds of that so far, and I have new strategies to assist me when that beginning whoosh of water weight wears off.

I am committed to remembering this — and to doing what’s necessary to keep from putting myself in the same situation, again.