My last post, almost exactly two years ago, was about how I was struggling to recover from a slight. I made light of the hurt, brushed off the pain, and poo-poohed my wounded pride. I was flippant by thinking that people who are damaged should "just get over it." Man, I'm such an asshole. 

You see, that's the thing about depression. No matter what successes I may have achieved those years ago, no matter how great I felt after an exercise session, and no matter what good I had done for others, my depression just frickin' pulled me under. And under. I became social. I tried spending more time with my Broads and with other good friends, I started drinking (a lot), but then I just...quit. I was happier laying across my bed, alone in my room, binge watching Netflix, and EATING. 

Nowadays, I still spend time in my room, but a lot less. I get outside, I spend time with dear friends on my own terms, I smell the fresh air, and I laugh. There is so much laughing happening, you guys. If only laughing would burn calories - I'd be like 110 lbs by now.

So here's the reason for my writing you all today. I know you've all heard this before, and I have absolutely no reason to assume that you care, but I am once again walking the line to better health. I'm not doing it for a man (although getting a man would be nice), I'm not doing it for my son (although he would love to have a "skinny" mom), and I'm not doing this for my friends (although they love me, and want me to be healthy). 

I'm doing this for me. Only me this time.

So, I bought a kickass little bike, and I'm training for the Barry Roubaix. I re-joined the gym. I'm counting my calorie intake and making better food choices. More importantly, I'm spending time outside by a fire, in the woods, and flying kites. 

I'm here to kick ass, folks. Watch out.