I used to weigh 100+ pounds more than I do today. I look in the mirror, and on the scale, and know that I have more to lose. This is despite getting statements occasionally where some people I know believe that I’ve completed my weight loss journey. In truth, I have about 25-30 pounds to go, and I’ve been staying pretty level, without any big poundage losses, for over a year.
I won’t tell that same trite sob story about how “food is my drug” and how it was my crutch, etc, etc. Maybe it was, once upon a time. Meanwhile, I’ve always loved to move my body, even when I was at my heaviest. I’d get funny looks when I was 250+ pounds, and would tell people I’d regularly go to the gym. In fact, I was doing 60 minutes of cardio, and sometimes another 60 minutes of weights three times a week. I’ve always walked at least a mile a day, just without thinking. The food part? Food is tasty when it’s good, prepared food is almost always underwhelming and under-satisfying, and when I’m not satisfied, I want to be satisfied, so I eat more, as if my belly stretching tells me I’m satisfied. (It actually just tells me I’m stuffed.)
To say the least, I’m living in a different skin. I looked in the mirror one day, over two years ago, and said that I was done wearing that skin. I’ve used Weight Watchers the entire time on my journey, and though the meetings may be scary to some, I definitely lose more weight when I’m going to meetings than when I’m doing it with their eTools.
Long story short – what I’m getting at is that I’m having to come to grips that I’m a different person. I’m not the fat girl any more. I can shop almost anywhere for clothing (aside from haute couture). I’m active, and I run. I don’t get funny looks when I shop for athletic clothing. I get pleasant and even fun small talk from other fitness enthusiasts, who look at me as a peer. I still eat the things that are delicious, but I’ve managed to cut out a lot of the things that frankly, I don’t need, and aren’t that delicious (or functional.)
No, I need chocolate. I still have chocolate.
But I don’t eat an entire pint of ice cream, except on a very rare basis. Hamburgers and french fries, also, a rare occurrence. Pasta is regular, but the portions are smaller (Most restaurant portions are probably 2-4 cups of cooked pasta, a portion is 1 cup.) Meat? Well, there are many reasons to eat less meat. I try to cut my portions to no more than 3-4 ounces of meat for dinner (and seldom, meat for lunch). Consider it’s nearly impossible to find a burger, chicken breast, or steak at a restaurant that is less than 4 ounces these days.
I do enjoy what I eat, and since I count the calories of alcohol as well, this past year of grief and stress has me turning to pleasure as an escape – and this is why I go over my Weight Watchers points (and break even on the scale.) Alcohol, I’ve found, is seldom worth drinking more than the slightest edge of tipsy. (That’s one drink for me.) Chocolate? Ice cream? Cupcake? Ah. Once a week (or more, depending on the moon), I find myself indulging. It’s easy to do the rationalizing. Especially when it’s just a few Points over the line for the week. (Oops!)
If all goes well, I’ll be visiting Chicago at the end of the summer, at my goal weight, visiting friends who have never really known me for any period of time other than the large, loud girl.
I’m learning who I am, in this context. It’s a bit of a, how you say, mindfuck?