The cute monkey on my back is my cat, Tiger. The damned monkey on my back is compulsive overeating. I’ve struggled my whole life, yada yada, with eating and binge issues. Yada Yada, because I don’t really feel like writing about it AGAIN. But last year I lost, or should I say, misplaced, 20 pounds and put them right back on in the last 6 months.

You’d think that I’d have noticed this climbing weight regain with little clues like having to buy bigger sizes, feeling more tired and not fitting into chairs as well as before. You’d think. But part of compulsive overeating is the whoppin’ serving of denial you tend to serve yourself.

I think I’ve been having seconds.

But when my cute little cat, Tiger climbed aboard my back whilst I was draped over an easy chair, it triggered my hubby, the Wonderful Mark, to take the snapshot. No hope of sucking it in. No chance of flattering angle. This photo is spontaneous truth in action.

Sigh. Normally this would inspire me to say tomorrow and head for the ice-cream. Normally I would give up for a comfortable while. For some reason, the Tiger pic caused me to look at the emotions and the reasons I’ve been finding oblivion in food again. Why I’ve been hiding. Why I’ve been afraid.

Strong stuff.

I’m not sure I’m ready to share my compulsive triggers today, but I am sure I want to share what I did.

I told myself that I am worth climbing back on the bike.

For me, biking is a big symbol of my healthy life. Of goals, of keeping on keeping on, of courage. I had a bad accident on a bike. It turned into a new life.

But I haven’t wanted to bike lately. Having another extra 20 pounds to haul around is tough. My bike clothes feel tight. My tummy flops on my thighs, getting slapped with each rotation of the pedal. It is not appealing.

I don’t care what I look like on the bike. I started riding even heavier than I am now, back when I was losing 130 pounds at age 40. But riding is freedom and flying and not caring about daily chores and woes. Riding is my solace. I don’t like having it be another reminder of lost focus, of failure, of letting the siren call of food overwhelm my love of life. I don’t want to feel the constriction of newly tight bike gear. I don’t want to be conscious of my tummy bouncing against my thighs. I don’t want to feel winded on an easy hill. I don’t want to be where I am. Again.

So I stopped.

I’m looking ahead to the bike path and proud of myself for getting out there. Did NOT feel like it.

Then yesterday I stopped stopping and climbed back on. The wonderful Mark and I did ten miles on the LA River bike path. That used to be a warm-up. Yesterday it was a century achievement.

I also decided that movies don’t need popcorn. That veggies taste good and that I am worth the effort.

Yada Yada. I’ve been here before too.