These feelings led to a little soul searching over the past few days. I’ve been talking to myself in the shower, which is usually the best conversation I’ll have all day. I’ve been thinking about this before I go to sleep, I’ve summoned my inner Tony Little for motivation.

In those talks, I’ve come to a conclusion. I must sprint my way down to 270. I must take care of this albatross as quickly as possible. I’ve given myself two weeks to make the 270s go away once and for all. While they have been a nice neighborhood to live in for the last two years, I’m getting sick of the same old view and the rapidly dying shrubbery. I need to live it up in the 260s for a little while, then make my way down to the 250s. I need to ultimately settle in the 240s, and maybe think about the 230 and, if I dare, the 220s.

But in order to go somewhere, you have to leave. I know now that it is time to get up and go.

So yes, I have given myself two weeks, though I know it will only take 10 solid days to get there. I won’t do much differently in those two weeks, except make an effort to exercise more (every day?), and draw from my strongest willpower in denying the toxins that will prevent me from reaching this short-term goal.

I’m not pretending that everything will be fine and dandy once I hit 269. To the contrary, I expect the second 30 pounds to require much more focus and discipline than the first. I expect to have to change the diet more than once, I expect I will have to alter my workout plans, and get a lot more serious if I want to hit 240 before summer.

But I will deal with those problems when the time comes. For now, I am looking at 269, at 101 pounds lost, and at a new life in a new neighborhood.

As The Jeffersons may say, I’m moving on up. But in reality, I must force myself to move on down.