I started off at 5'6" and 92kg (~202lbs). My goal was to get to the weight I was when I was happy with my body, and coincidentally the only time I had ever weighed myself before realising I was fat(!) 5 years later - 68kg (~150lbs).
I'm still 5'6", which is cool, and I'm now 68kg and have been there abouts for around a week. Awesome, right? Except I've now remembered that I still wasn't happy with my weight when I was here before, and now I'm 7 years older with loose skin from weight loss and still right at the top of a healthy BMI range! So, new plan is 65kg, and see what that looks like, taking it slowly and hoping my skin tightens up over time (feel free to reassure me here!!! It's not hanging, but definitely a slippery moveable overcoat all over, rather than 'wetsuit tight').
I feel so proud of myself for making it, I feel kind if resigned to the fact that I have further to go, and I feel annoyed at myself for letting it get as bad as it did. If you are interested, my story is below- hopefully not too long of a ramble, and hopefully some worthwhile thoughts - PSA - having now written it, I would highly recommend jumping to the tldr at the bottom.
Ok:
I have always been 'big' - never fat (until I was) but always a large frame, big muscles, large curves, so I hold weight well (apparently) - and this was my downfall. I am now where I used to be, and once again getting the comments of 'there's nothing of you' and 'men like curves, dogs like bones' and all the other surface level crap that I was told any time I expressed a desire to change my body. Guess I fell for it at 21, and so I thought, I'm the only one that thinks I'm fat, I must be fine. I'm naturally heavy in weight (see frame and muscles) so when I tell people my weight they say 'no way, you can't be, you hold it well' - it actually became a sick challenge to shock people with how much I weighed. I became legitimately proud of being heavy because it was so unbelievable (!?), it was like I was winning something. Same as a bizarre pride in being able at 21 to eat more than all of the middle aged men I worked with (6 plates, 3 desserts at a Chinese all you can eat buffet is my record). This weird dynamic that I and others built, along with depression and frankly just a sheer neglect of informative reading meant that I genuinely didn't realise my weight gain. I rarely buy new clothes, so when I did, and new ones jumped two sizes, I'd think 'oh, well we all know the fashion industry is trying to shame people, they must have brought the sizes down to trick us' (yes, I actually did that dance - what a pillock I was). A change from labour to office work also had me pile on work. Never for a second did I stop and think that food = weight gain. I'm not a stupid person, but I was an ignorant fool on this subject, I mean, how could I not know that, right? I just thought exercise was the main driver and food was secondary (how wrong was I!).
So, one day, out of nowhere, years in the making, I realised I was enormous, had stretch marks that would now never fade and couldn't climb stairs. It would only get worse, and I knew how bad it could get, as my parents were morbidly obese (I know, I know, how could I not be more educated on weight with that background! My mother even lost 10stone or so, and I still had no idea about weightloss/gain)
So, I started. Aaaand stopped. I tried a Jason Vale juice diet. That sucked. Didn't help. 2/10 would not recommend. I started to run, helped me feel better, but no change in weight. Started climbing, same result. Cut my portions but not my snacking - helped a bit more. All of that got me from 92kg to 86kg. I stayed there for a while, then found reddit. Found r/CICO - life changed. I didn't weigh food, I just took the packets for granted, went for 1200 a day and stuck to it. Dropped a kilogram (2.2lbs) a week for 10 weeks straight - sweet, 76kg. Plateau. Gave up, binged for a month. Still 70-goshdarn-6. Started again, 72kg. Christmas - 74kg. January plateau. February 72kg. March plateau. April 70kg. May 69...68...plateau.
I started lifting weights in February, which I think gave me the plateau there, I've noticed if I have a few days off lifting, I lose weight on the scale, when I lift, I put on after a heavy session, or retain (we're only talking minor fluctuations here) - not sure, water? If you know why, please tell me!!)
It's strange, sometimes I'll feel like I've totally changed myself - I can now be the person that eats two biscuits and the puts the packet back in the cupboard. I can say no to food offers and genuinely mean it. I feel fit and healthy. Then I'll feel a bit rubbish one day and go straight back to the greedy eat-the-whole-damn-lot-in-one-sitting person I always was. Hopefully in time I'll be more of the former and less of the latter, but at the moment I feel like split personalities with it. Habit forming is going well though, I think.
Pros: I look great (with clothes on), I feel great (clothes not withstanding), life has opportunities again, I feel more in control, and I apparently love running.
Cons: loose skin, saggy boobs, stretch marks that I doubt will ever leave me
Tl;dr: I feel amazing in myself, fit and strong again, and I love how free it makes me feel. My partner is loving it. But I'm not there yet, wherever 'there' ends up being.
All in all, it's been a long road, and I'm not even finished, even though technically I am. It's a weird feeling, should I be happy or just...the same because I'm not there?
I have achieved what I set out to, and would love to write a post to inspire others, but somehow feel like I am still the one that needs the inspiration to carry on. Feel free to pass comment, especially if you have experience of whether my breasts will reinflate any time soon!!! Feel free to ask any questions you might have, if I can help, I will.
Take care all of you, and thank to everyone that posts and keeps us all going xx
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