This is the story of a .8 pound weight loss over a period of four weeks, collectively known as the month of February.
This is the story of said month in which I refocused my efforts, stayed the course, moved my body and fed it in keeping with the dietary requirements of both Weight Watchers and generalized good health.
This is the story making some connections about a few very important details in my journey thus far, and that top detail being: losing weight can really be a beyotch.
In 2010, save for a few weeks, I lost weight nearly every week as I headed from the mid 170s to the mid 140s. Nearly every week.
Then, as you who follow this saga know, I packed a bit back on over the holidays (normal, I think, to see what you can get away with when weight loss and fitness are still so new and fresh in your daily life), and I decided to get back to basics for 2011.
So far, so meh.
I feel as though I am standing still right now. Some might call this a hiccup in the journey. Some might call it a plateau. Some might call it a less than stellar attitude.
All I know is that I'm way too focused on fitness and food to not be seeing a different result.
Now in the past, whenever I hit this stage—the one where I'm starting to deflate at the idea of having to track every morsel and every ounce for the rest of eternity—it's usually the point where things go South in a hurry. It's usually when that baby flows right out with the bathwater.
I won't lie to you: I am in a critical place right now.
On the one hand, here I am, trying to spark a little fitness inspiration and I feel like if I'm not continually producing results, then people might be scratching their heads, thinking, "Um, yeah… and how's that working for you, Cath?"
On the other hand, I have that feeling again—the one that feels like I'm hanging on to this weight and this healthier lifestyle by the thinnest of threads.
And on the third hand (if I had one), I'm trying to figure out why numbers matter, and why muffin tops aren't okay, and why in God's name I have this image in my mind that very likely I will never physically be able to attain in the remainder of my days.
Know what I'm saying?
Let's take a look at this month's layout, with only one minor swear word tossed in:
JOURNALING READS: I want to start this month’s page out with hope and confidence. I want to stand up and say, “I am more than numbers on a scrapbook page.” I want to live a life that isn’t so damned concerned with every little freaking morsel that goes into my mouth. But today might not be the day I can say any of this with any degree of competency. One month later, .8 pounds less. Is it time that I begin to let go of the whole 140 pound goal weight? For a solid year, save for three weeks, I lost weight each week. And I won’t lie: when you see a loss week after week, it’s a huge motivator to keep on fighting the good fight. Since I’ve been re-focused on the new Weight Watchers plan, things just aren’t moving. And I’m feeling like it’s time I accept where I’m at, and stop striving for some weight number that very likely isn’t possible for me and my body at this stage of the game.
I don’t know why having a muffin top makes me feel somehow less than. I don’t know why this obsession with my physical being plays such a dominant part in my life. I know there are people who might look at me and shake their heads, thinking, “Jesus, what’s she got to complain about?” I don’t want to waste any more time with the woe is me aspect of all of this. I am tired of waiting for numbers to determine whether I’m confident or awesome, or something less than that. I’m really tired of wanting to display some form of my personal success via being thin. If anything it’s clear to me that I’ve got some serious shit to work out on this issue. I’m not throwing in the towel. I’m just seeking some clarity on the whole gig.
Not to belabor my points here, but a few of my measurements have gone up this month as well. Finding that out was icing on the crap cake.
Still, I am not planning a mutiny here. I'm not planning to say, "Ah, to hell with it…" But part of me is wondering how this all plays out. When will the numbers stop mattering so much? When will I be the awesome example of a woman who is strong and fit and doesn't give a dang what the scale says in return? When will I stop this nutty obsession with every last morsel that goes into my gullet?
I share as I go. Good, bad and everything in between.
Not every report arrives via gold paved Internet roads.
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