April 24 of this year was the first time I weighed in on my first day of my official weight-loss journey: 270lb, as a 5'4'' 27yo female. That was a very hard day.
For the next 5 months, I danced around any real progress; I was scared. Scared of loose skin, scared of cutting out things I loved to eat, scared of what I would do with my time I otherwise spent binging at night, and scared of how I would actually go about resetting habits. But mostly, I was scared to face that reality that if I succeeded, my "weight loss journey" would become part of my identity. I would have to talk about it. I would have to accept that I had been fat enough to go on a "journey" to become not fat, and other people would know. I hated that idea. I thought that if I ignored the weight, if I pretended to be okay with myself, if I just made sure not to be in anyone's pictures, or end up on instagram where someone from high school or college might see me (as 100+ of these pounds have been put on in the last 4 years; most of my life I'd been fit and athletic), I could just will this weight to disappear and never have to think about it or admit it to anyone, and I could leave it all entirely behind me. I actually believed that.
It took a lot of reading this subreddit and of facing the reality of what I was consuming every day and googling images of "270 pound woman" for me to realize that wasn't true. But mostly, it took me moving to the other side of the world.
A little over two months ago I moved from NYC to Hong Kong, on a 6-month assignment for my job. For the first month or so, I didn't really seem to move in any direction; I needed time to adjust to an entirely new space and culture and job. I wasn't eating great, but I wasn't binging to my usual degree either. And then roughly six weeks in, I realized I had an opportunity. Everything around me was different: I had none of my usual triggers or foods, no Seamless, no bodega downstairs, I couldn't even access weed (I usually smoke 1-2 joints per night), and I had a gym three floors down.
And then it just...happened for me. I went out and bought a scale (264.2 on October 13). I started tracking every single day. I cooked broccoli at home and learned to absolutely love it (and cauliflower, and asparagus, and cottage cheese with orange slices for breakfast). I stopped eating sweets, almost entirely. I joined a boxing gym, and started going 2-3 times a week. In my off-days I hit the treadmill or the elliptical in the gym, for a total of 4-5 workouts per week. And I did not want to say it had "clicked" or "finally stuck" until I had done exactly 30 days. And today is that day.
Today, I weighed in at 246.8lb.
I can get up a flight of stairs without heaving. I don't feel the urge to binge. I have developed a deep love and craving for truly healthy foods. I've come to realize that most junk food, or meals eaten out, really aren't worth it. My clothes are starting to fit better. I'm sweating less. I have more energy, I'm happier, I can look at myself in the mirror and am too distracted by the progress I can see to focus on the the things I've grown to hate about my body. I'm not perfect, and I'm still nowhere near my goal weight, but I cannot wait to keep going.
30 days down, and a lifetime to go.
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from loseit - Lose the Fat https://ift.tt/2rDSiDb
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