The fast and ugly backstory: in March 2019, my doctor weighed me (F, 5'6) at 276 lbs and basically said I had too many risks of death and he wouldn't even renew my birth control because too many risks. I cried for three days and then something in my brain just snapped. I downloaded Myfitnesspal, bought a food scale on Amazon, cut my calories and never looked back.
For a long time, every drop sent a surge of excitement and happiness through me. Even tiny drops of 0.2. I was losing! I wasn't hungry and I was still eating just, so much chocolate. I love chocolate. I'm eating some right now.
A week ago I weighed in at 199.4. I did not feel happy. This morning was 198.2.
I felt tired. I felt sad. I felt frustrated.
I've dropped a single pant size. One shirt size. When I look in the mirror I see the same thing I always have. The joy of losing became the exhaustion of realizing the scale doesn't matter, it never mattered, what matters is how I feel and how I look. I'd be a happy 400 pounds if I could magically be skinny and energetic at the same time.
My birthday is on Tuesday. I bought myself tickets for a 5K obstacle course/mud run type thing in June. Because one thing has become very painfully clear: weight loss is a slog of a journey if that's all I have, if that's my only goal. I need something concrete to look forward to that isn't a pointless number on a scale or a nebulous some day around shopping for clothes.
I need better goal posts than a random number.
Onederland didn't make me happy. But maybe I can find happiness in the things I can do now that I'm not dragging an extra 80 pounds around.
Maybe.
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from loseit - Lose the Fat https://ift.tt/39A0wgj
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