In my late teens and early 20s, Lake Powell took on another meaning: It became a deadline. As spring neared and I had to face the winter weight I'd so carelessly packed on, I would vow to lose it (and maybe a little bit extra) by the time the Lake Powell trip came around.
I never did.
To be clear, I've gained and lost weight with some regularity over the past 10-plus years, so it isn't that I've never been able to slim down at all. In fact, I worked really hard before each pageant I competed in and always felt proud of myself during that brief but all-important swimsuit competition.
This is different. For whatever reason, this one weight loss deadline I've continually set is the one deadline I have never, ever made.
This year is no exception.
Soon I will go on my first Lake Powell trip since I met Aaron, and although my life is entirely different than in trips past, this state of failure and regret remains the same. Although I have made respectable progress in the course of this blog, my decision to go AWOL comes at the worst time. I've lost all my baby weight, true, but the little bit extra I also lost has come back. What's worse, since I've been heedlessly chugging soda the past month, I am bloated like a beached whale. Needless to say, I am not in fantastic swimsuit shape. I KNOW I could have—and SHOULD have—done better.
Life will go on and I know I will still have a wonderful time on this trip, but I can't help be saddened by my own failings, yet again. It's not so much that I've had a few ill-timed bumps in the road; it's that, once again, I have let my complacency get the better of me and failed to meet yet another goal, one that I desperately wanted to make.
Just a little bit longer and I will be able to go walk with you! This fall we can go walk the parkway with our little ones (or without-lets put the dads to good use).
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