I am sick of working out - there, I said it.

So, last year I finally lost the baby weight. That's right, after 6 years of getting pregnant, nursing, losing a couple of pounds . . .and then getting pregnant, nursing, just keep on going for five episodes. The point is, I finally did it. No, I don't have some big "will-power and a good tread-mill" success story. The truth is, I wasn't even trying to lose weight at that point, I was trying to regain my sanity. I just wanted to feel good when I woke up for once instead of feeling like crap everyday. It worked. I felt good and I started looking good. This isn't about that. Sorry.

This is about what happens after that. This is about me thinking that since I finally beat the anxiety and depression that had been taking over my daily existence, like a slow-growing fungus, sapping my energy and sense of excitement about life, then hey, side-bonus: I not only got my groove back, but got skinny too - I must be done! That's it. I was on maintenance, baby. Guess what, life comes back with some more whoppers to crack your smug little "look at me being all happy" smile.

This is the next phase when, as much as you would like, you can't get rid of every single negative person and situation in your life (ahhhh, wouldn't that be nice). The reality is that some of the whoa-is-me-addicts bringing you down are people you are married to, gave birth to, or for some other reason, are not willing to kick to the curb. Look, I am all about the positive thinking, but I can do all the vision boards, believing myself happy and rich and care-free, speaking it into reality, all the live long day, and it is still not going to turn my husband into a half-full kind of guy. So, here I am back at "Jeepers, why am I so blasted tired all the time?" again.

The truth is, I don't even have the motivation to gung-ho exercise the way I did last year. Well, to be fair I didn't start out gung-ho in the first place back then, either. I just started with making a deal with myself to walk in place for five minutes, at least once a day, just to make myself get out of bed. I know, it's kind of pathetic. But real.

And no, I didn't gain all the weight back. But I did gain three to five pounds over Christmas, then another five pounds just for the heck of it. So it's one dress size. Some of you are playing the pity fiddle for me right now, am I right? Here's the way I think of it: at the end of the day, it's still one size bigger than I wear. It's one size bigger than almost all the clothes I own. So, it is kind of a big deal, to me.

So what happened? I just got to a place where a lot of external stressors were gone, finally, and all the stuff I was doing to relieve that stress, like eating right and exercising and reading positive books, just seemed like over-kill. I just wanted to enjoy for a while. Eat a lot more junk, lay around a lot more, blow off walking and other stuff. After all, I was THIN. I could handle it. I could just stop and get back on track after a week or two. I was giving myself some time off and that is healthy. Who's fooling who? A day off is healthy, not a month off, let's be honest, here, finally.

Do you ever do that? Just say, "I do not care a bit today - I am suddenly and bizarrely wanting a break from doing the things that leave me feeling good and healthy and you know what? I am going to eat a bunch of sugar and thumb my nose at any exercise what-so-ever just because I can!" It's like a a weird out of body experience. You see yourself gaining weight and keep telling yourself you can quit anytime and turn it around, it's not that big of a deal, and my clothes are just a little tight anyway. That is until the day that I cannot button the pants that used to literally fall off of my hips.

Then I get scared. I shake myself in the mirror and shout, "What did you do? Why didn't you stop at one pound, or three pounds?" So, here we go. I vow to drink nothing but protein shakes and smoothies for a week. That lasts until lunch. I think the night before about how tomorrow is the day, that is it! Enough of this. I will eat only raw foods, or only low fat, or just cut out the meat or what-ever is going to be the magic solution to quickly wipe out the evidence of my over-indulgence before anyone in my circle of friends notices I (gasp) gained weight.

Listen to me, sugar and fat are my crack! No matter that I wrote the book on losing weight slowly for lasting results (literally, I wrote a book) - I want it now!

Phase forward a few weeks when, once again, I lay figuratively slumped in a corner semi-comatose from alternatively depriving myself and binging, losing three pounds and congratulating myself by gaining back four. "Hey idiot," I tell myself with a smirk, "why don't you read your book?" "Shut up," I reply. I read the back cover where it says, "I am not unhappy because I am overweight, I am overweight because I am unhappy."

Oh, yeah, I forgot. OK, so I slipped into de'river. You know, the one called De-nial? So, it is back to basics again. Good messages in, good attitude out. Good food in, good health out. Five minutes of walking in . . we are getting there.

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