Dates: January 11th – March 28th, 2026 Total inches1 lost: 17.75 Biggest change: -4.75″ from my waist Total pounds lost: 22.4 Books read: 5 DietBets won: 4 Kickstarters (of 4) + 2 Transformer rounds Treadmill running speed increase: 1.7 mph Elliptical pace change: -2:26
And, as I predicted the day before the end of the challenge, the biggest difference is in the day 1 vs day 77+1 pics. My shoulders are narrower, my smaller waist brings my arms in closer to my body in a resting position, and my clothes fit the way they’re meant to rather than squeezing in the most unflattering of ways. My neck is leaner, which makes me look taller, and my jawline is more pronounced. My legs are slimmer, which balances my proportions better. And overall, there aren’t as many rolls and pudgy bits squeezing out from every angle.
I think I’m gonna continue with the measurements and progress photos, but more like every other week or maybe only every month. It’s truly jaw-dropping to see the side-by-side differences, especially now that the weight loss has started to slow. Those days of reliable weekly drops of 3, 4, 5 pounds may be behind me, but this recomposition phase is fascinating in a whole new way.
This next little stat extends beyond the Power 11 timeframe, but it’s a pretty gobsmacking one: blood pressure. My last BP was on September 16th at a dentist’s appointment, which I noted down because I was on 75 Hard at the time and had intended to record it again at the end… which I didn’t do. However, I’m glad I have that record to contrast with the reading I got from the doctor’s appointment I had today.
September 16th, 2025: 118/84 (weight: 247.8) March 30th, 2026: 112/60 (weight: …I’ll tell ya in a second)
That’s a significant diastolic change! My doctor pronounced my BP “excellent” and proceeded to review the results of all the blood labs she had received from the work-up she ordered for me since my appointment with her at the beginning of the month and congratulating me on my “clearly healthy body.”
Since yesterday was the official close of the Power 11 chapter, it was an appropriate day for the scale to eke out just enough of a drop to land me at 192.6 pounds — which just so happens to be the lowest weight I reached way back in early March of 2016, before I lost my focus and that whole trajectory went up in smoke. And just when I started wondering if maybe I’d get stuck here like I got stuck in the 200s for 6 stupid weeks, the doctor’s office scale clocked me at 191.6 this morning.
I’m fully in body recomp right now, and the evidence is everywhere. Getting into the 180s is going to be where the emotional recomp begins. I don’t know exactly how to prepare for it, but I know I’m on a collision course with it. All I can say is, bring on the crash.
Weekly measurements taken from bust, waist, stomach, hips, thigh, calf, ankle, upper arm, forearm, and ring finger. ↩︎
It’s the last day of my Power 11 challenge. I’ve been consciously tracking quite a few metrics throughout the past 11 weeks to monitor my changes, but there have been some I couldn’t have predicted. Today, an unexpected moment cemented a trend I’ve been lightly observing over the past week, and I’m… still wrapping my head around it.
Earlier this week, I casually scooted my carseat when I got into the car. There was no thought involved. I got in the car, felt too far from the steering wheel, and moved the seat forward. Only once I’d started the car did it hit me how weird that was; I’m the only person who drives my vehicle, and my seat position hasn’t changed in… ever? Why would it? My height hasn’t changed, so why should an adjustment like this suddenly be necessary?
Oh. Because there’s less cushion behind me, forcing my body forward and out from the seat. The disappearance of that natural padding has required me to sit farther back in the seat, creating more distance between the wheel and the rest of my body. It makes sense… but it also makes no sense at all.
Later in the week, I took myself out for a walk through a touristy area near my office. I happened upon a t-shirt I liked and decided to buy it — but I spent several minutes debating what size to get. The XL looked huge. The L looked right. I ultimately opted for the XL, rationalizing that it’s better to have something be too big than too small, I could wear it over something else if it actually was too big, and it might shrink in the wash anyway.
Then today, my package arrived of the 2 maxi dresses I ordered as options to wear to an upcoming event. I tried them both on immediately, and just as immediately, saw that they were too big. Not just kind of too big; too big as in the elastic band under the bust on one of them wasn’t even making contact with my skin. That one is going back where it came from. (I’m keeping the other for a swimsuit cover-up.)
The kicker about those dresses is that I pored over the size chart for each one before choosing the size. The smaller size matched my latest measurements, but once again, I rationalized that most brands run small (in my experience), and I’m inept at taking my measurements, so I didn’t fully trust the numbers. I erred on the side of bigger, just to be safe.
On my walk today, I caught a glimpse of my lean-looking shadow moving with relative ease up and down the hilly terrain. It sent me onto a thought spiral of the way the skirt I wore earlier this week wasn’t clinging to my hips like it used to, the way my red pants swished instead of hugging the length of my legs the other day, and the way I can feel and see new contours in my thighs both in motion and at rest. (Seriously, all the divots and indentations and little bulges — the topography of my legs is a totally new frontier to me.)
This is all inescapable evidence that there is some serious recomp happening here. And even though I expected it, it’s messing with my head. Hell, even expecting it to mess with my head has not curbed the messing-with of my head.
It isn’t squaring for me. Does not compute. That’s why I keep catching myself hedging. I negotiate with reality in real time, just like I did in all 3 instances above where I was confronted with my physical changes.
I’ve watched myself get smaller. I’ve felt myself shrink. I’ve put in the work; it’s not like it’s a surprise, or something I didn’t very much want. Why am I resisting the evidence? Why so skeptical?
It’s a simple answer: this shit is crazy, and it can make a person feel crazy. Just like going to the gym when I’m already exhausted — Just like staying on the run when I’m out of breath — Just like choosing the healthy food option over the convenient one — This is a mental game much more than it is a physical one.
I’ve been a big back forever — since before “big back” was even a term. Someone who’s moving closer to the steering wheel, comfortably wearing size L clothing, and finding more power in her legs even as they shrink? That doesn’t sound like me. I can see it. I can feel it. It makes sense… but it also makes no sense at all.
When I do my weekly weight check tomorrow morning, the scale may or may not reflect what I’ve been noticing since our last encounter. I don’t necessarily need it to. Either way, it will be capping off 11 weeks of a particular kind of focus. My weight loss from the past 10 weeks has actually not been that impressive, so I’m not expecting any remarkable drop to suddenly show up tomorrow morning and buck that trend. What I do think I’ll see tomorrow are some jaw-dropping side-by-side photos contrasting day 1 and day 77+1.
Regardless of what I see in the metrics or in the pictures, what I’m feeling now is a whole new level of embodiment. I struggle to articulate exactly what that means, and attempting to process it all internally is proving just as difficult. It’s hard because change is hard. But change — this kind of change — is also very, very good. Hard isn’t always bad.
In addition to — and in no small part because of — the heavy load they’ve had to haul for nearly the entirety of their load-bearing lives, I’ve derided them for their too-wide-for-boots muscularity and unfeminine appearance. Disrespecting them for the appearance they took on as a direct result of the abuse I inflicted on my body, which became their burden. Classic insult to injury.
Since I’ve been losing weight and training for a half marathon, the demand on my legs has anything but lessened, even as my body mass has. The musculature is even more pronounced as my calves slim down. My knees have taken on a knobbiness they’ve never had before. There’s definition and shape developing as the muscles, tendons, and ligaments in my thighs develop and strengthen. My ankles are popping, and not in the injury-adjacent way the normally do.
My legs don’t look different, exactly; they look more unabashedly themselves. And I’m learning to love them.
They’ve done a thankless job for decades. They may never look conventionally attractive. They may never fit into a cute autumn boot. They may never stop a speeding cab with their irresistible curvature. But they have always held me. They supported me. They carried me. They are strong, and they are tireless. They are perfectly mine.
Before? Hide the legs! Keep them out of others’ view! Pants year-round! Now? Electric blue workout pants. Highlighter pink tights. Dresses. Skirts. Dare I say, SHORTS… coming soon.
This is the type of change that matters the most to me. I’m getting healthier mentally — and that’s been the entire purpose of all of this.
I’m coming off of 2 successive nights of, to put it mildly, suboptimal sleep. Taken together, I’ve netted a cumulative single night’s worth of in twice that amount of time. I’m in the middle of a (self-conducted) multi-week experiment where I’m closely monitoring the variables that may be impacting my sleep and I’m very much anticipating the results, but until then, the erratic restfulness has me dragging ass.
Today was rough, but it was a prescribed Power 11 rest day that seemed well timed to help mitigate some of the fatigue from my sleep deficit. Instead of taking it easy, though, I racked up 5 (leisurely and spread-out) miles on the treadmill work station at the office today before coming home and completing a 15-minute core workout video.
It’s not just that I want to keep up my physical activity. It’s not just that consistency matters more on high-exhaustion, low-energy days. It’s not just that restoration comes in many different forms, including an alternative type of movement. It’s that this is what my body told me it needed today.
Counterintuitive? Sure. But I spent decades ignoring my biological and physiological signals. My body is working hard for me, and it deserves better care than a return to that nonsense.
Crucially, yes: I am physically depleted. My eyelids feel like they weigh 10 pounds each, almost every part of me is sore, and I have spent the day having elaborate fantasies about my pillow. I am T.I.R.E.D. And yet… I am not tired of this.
Taking care of myself, noticing changes in the mirror, feeling new muscles and shapes emerging from my physique, fitting into new (old) outfits, effortlessly moving in ways that were impossible 6 months ago, nourishing myself properly, and caring enough to do things like track my behaviors so I can repair my disrupted sleep? It’s work. It takes time, focus, commitment, and thought.
And I choose it every day — thousands of times a day — because it matters. Right now, nothing matters more.
True exhaustion was being twice the size I should be and still having to participate in life like a fully functional, healthy person. This right here is a bump on the road to regulation. Healing isn’t linear. Recovery isn’t smooth. Change isn’t straightforward. This is messy.
So I know it’s working.
Rest days will fall by the wayside. Sleepless nights will strike. I can handle that; I know how to care for myself now.
But I will not go back there. I will never return to true exhaustion.
…you may be experiencing triple-digit weight loss.
For the past few weeks, my body has been doing weird new things that I would have expected at a larger size, but never encountered before. Now that I’m smaller, it’s thrown me to experience:
Intermittent lower back pain for stretches of days at a time with no clear trigger
Toenails on the big toe of each foot whose outer corners I’ve had to excavate from the nail bed every few weeks
Numbness on the balls of my feet setting in on long walks or runs
CALF SORENESS!!! Of all the strange symptoms, this has been most puzzling; my calves have always been extraordinarily muscular and never had a problem hauling wide loads all over the globe. You’d think they’d be quieter than ever now that they have 106 fewer pounds to carry!
Never one to let a mystery go unsolved, I logged these irregularities in my mental notepad and went about looking for a pattern that could link them together.
Then today, while seated at the bicep curl machine and dreading my cardio session because of the unrelenting back ache, I recalled how my feet were sliding forward into the toe boxes of the shoes I had on during my trail walk yesterday. They didn’t used to do that. It then struck me that my indoor gym shoes were making the same thing happen on the elliptical. That’s when the chain reaction of realizations connected all the recent exhibits of my body’s unusual behavior. If my shoes — every pair — are now too big, that means my feet have gotten smaller.
When there’s too much extra room in shoes, the feet slide forward against the edge of the sneaker and wreak havoc on toenails. Excess interior shoe space forces feet to try to gain traction within the shoe while also trying to use the shoe to gain traction on the ground outside of it, putting extra pressure on the balls of the feet and straining the midfoot. The legs (and ankles) have to work harder to maintain stability. Then it all travels up to the lower back, which is trying to compensate for all the shenanigans that the entire wayward muscle chain below it is causing.
No wonder my body is throwing a minor tantrum.
Needless to say, I have a pair of tennis shoes arriving soon — half a size smaller. This is such lucky timing; I have ALMOST bought new ones a few times in the past couple of weeks, and I’m so glad I didn’t because they would have been the wrong size. Even better, this gives me about 6 weeks to break in the new kicks before my half marathon the first weekend of May. It’s a shame my lower body had to mildly suffer to get my brain to figure this out, but at least it wasn’t in vain — and frankly, for the amount of avoidable silliness I put it through, its protests were quite tame (which I appreciate).
This revelation was a heckuva way to mark day 60 of Power 11.
I’ve never been a “let’s wear belts” girlie. Even if I’d had the figure for them, they didn’t fit.
Last night, a belt I’d had hanging on the inside of the closet door for several years that came as an accessory to a dress I’ve only ever worn beltless, almost literally jumped out at me. Out of curiosity, I picked it up and wondered if the new waist I have might now support this kind of flair.
I missed the window.
Somehow in the past 8 months and change — emphasis on the “change” — I’ve gone from not fitting into a plus-size belt, to a plus-size belt not fitting onto me. By quite a large margin.
This is the type of dangerous thing that has set an untenable precedent. Here at the 106.6-pound mark of weight lost to date, with the introduction of strength training, the drops are smaller. The finish line is closer than it was when I was 50% heavier, but shedding that last ~55 lbs is likely going to take at least the same amount of time as that first 106.6.
On the one hand, that’s daunting and demotivating. On the other hand, it’s motivating and exciting.
Being ⅔ of the way through the climb up a steep hill allows you to see how far you’ve come, and it’s a tough slog powering through that last third when you’ve expended a good amount of energy already getting to that point. But you don’t climb a hill unless you intend to reach the top. So maybe you have to slow down in order to conserve the strength you need to keep going. That takes a different kind of effort. So it’s time to strap in.
In a past life, when I was having success with weight loss, I used to do this thing where I’d buy a few articles of clothing a size down from where I was, every time I reached a new smallest size. Staying on top of the sartorial demands of slimming down is an expensive pursuit whose timing is unpredictable, so it helps to be prepared for it; my little gimmick helped not only to keep me motivated, but to keep me clothed. My big move was rifling through the sales and clearance racks for off-season finds that gave me a comfortable cushion, to the extent that the season-bound availability allowed. Every time I purchased a downsizing garment, I wrote the date on the tag, which remained attached until that piece fit. Once I could wear it and it became an official part of my wardrobe, it was a cool way to track the time between size changes that weren’t always congruent with the scale — and it came with a fun little ceremonial act of snipping off the tag.
Last night, while I was laying out my attire for today (to save me time in the morning), I found one such relic from that bygone era:
I tried on this skirt and it fit. With room to spare. (So yes, I wore it today.)
Seeing the date on the tag as I cut it off triggered a memory of a couple of other items I bought around the same time: two pairs of… shorts. 😱
I found them immediately, folded together in a tiny stack on a shelf in my closet: one a size 14, and the other a quixotic size 12. The tags aren’t dated, but I’m reasonably certain they were from around the same time as when I bought the skirt I wore today, if not from the same shopping trip.
These are the two smallest downsize items I have. This means two pretty big things: 1) I have never been as small as I am now. 2) I am about to enter a new frontier that I am literally not outfitted for.
I set both pairs of shorts out in plain view for subtle thinspiration. It was too soon to try on either of those sizes, having newly sized down into 16s. Maybe in another month or two, I’d be up for trying on those 14s. For now, those two pretty big things are a lot to absorb.
So when I got home from work today, in the skirt I was wearing for the first time since purchasing it more than 9 years ago — because I regained all the weight I’d lost before I got the chance to shrink into it — I wanted to make sure it wouldn’t also be the last. I picked up those size-14 shorts from their spot and held them up in front of me. The idea of fitting into them suddenly didn’t seem so outlandish.
And it wasn’t.
Because they fit.
Not perfectly. Not as flatteringly as they will after another few inches disappear from my hips and waist. But the fastener closed. The zipper slid right up. Those shorts were on me. And I was floored.
It’s truthfully a little nerve racking; I have no blueprint for this phase. I haven’t “been there before”. I don’t know what I’ll look like the next size down. I don’t know what I’ll feel like when those 12s are sliding on. I don’t know how things will fit me at clothing sizes I’ve never bought ahead, let alone worn. Most alarmingly, I don’t know for sure that I’m gonna make it to the next size below. There’s no precedent for any of that.
But I made the major choice at the outset that every minor choice I make in this process will support my overall health. I do know I won’t deviate from that, because there’s nothing but precedent for it — and a trove of powerful results that have come from it. I believe in what I’m doing. I may not be prepared for the next step down, but when I get there, I will be ready.
This is where the real emotional work begins. In the interest of always choosing my health, I’ve been laying track for months to support my psychological journey that will go right through the heart of this thing. It’s already been exhausting, and it’s not even at full speed yet. The beautiful thing I have going for me is the physical activity that keeps me mentally regulated. And that’s a full circle.
So I might as well complete another circle while I’m at it. New frontier sounds pretty great to me.
Today was my first doctor’s appointment in more than 7 years.
I told her about my 105+ pounds of lost weight. I told her my menstrual cycles have become regular again. I told her I’m training for not one, but two half marathons this year.
She told me I was doing everything right. She told me maybe I didn’t need to drink quite so much water. She told me to get lab work and come back at the end of the month.
We talked about my complex medical history. We talked about my current nutrition. We talked about my future goals.
And we began a conversation about one big thing that’s been on my mind for the past few months: skin removal surgery.
Because in several places on my body where there used to be fat, my skin hangs low. It wobbles to and fro. Before too long, it wouldn’t surprise me if I could tie it in a knot and tie it in a bow. God forbid I should wind up with enough to do what’s described in the lyric that comes next.
I’m not done yet. There’s no certainty about much more time it will take me to reach my “end state” — but it could be about a year, give or take. Starting the conversation with my doctor is the right move strategically for insurance purposes as well as for my own psychological and logistical purposes. My doctor gave me a referral for a practice that has done good work for a past patient of hers for an initial consultation, as a first step, which I look forward to taking. And, if I’m being 100% honest, it motivates me to keep going. Yes, I am interested in the aesthetics of this because I’m a person with deep-seated body issues and some (probably standard-issue) vanity to boot; no question it’s unsightly. But also, it is physically uncomfortable. Loose skin hanging from my arms, belly, and inner thighs is in the way. It chafes. It bulges. It gets irritated. And it’s not the kind of skin that just burns off when you lose more weight; it gathers additional mass.
This is just the beginning of a longer discussion, but it’s the right time. A surgical option is a big decision with a lot to think about, and I’m ready to start doing that in a real way with professionals who can paint it all in practical terms. My body isn’t finished changing yet, but the progression has been so rapid — 92 lbs since mid-June — that the finish line is going to get here fast no matter when that is.
I want to be prepared for it, not blindsided by it.
So, yes: today was a big day. It felt like the start of a new chapter. Not the exit from an old chapter, but the beginning of a concurrent one that has never been foreshadowed in anything that has been written so far. It’s as grounding as it is exciting, because for the first time, I’m looking at something that feels within my reach. I believe I have a doctor who is on my side and is invested in my health. I don’t have to do it alone.
Going forward is going to get harder because it’s going to demand more and more from me. I’ve already had to persevere through the slog of the 200s, sticking to my plan without taking drastic measures out of desperation to finally cross that threshold. I’ve already had to work around injuries and modify training sessions. I’ve already had to creatively reconfigure my schedule to ensure my workouts and meals didn’t fall off. It’s nothing I haven’t been able to handle, but it is the type of demand that tends to produce fatigue that compounds with time and demand. I’m trying to be prepared for that, too.
I heard somewhere, in a different context, perhaps the most affirming and applicable quote that fits my whole approach to my self-improvement work: “Motivation is fickle; discipline is consistent.”
I’ve shown up. And I’ll keep showing up. Because god damn if I’m not disciplined.
I laughed. I said, out loud, “FUCK YEAH.” I took a few steps. I doubled over. And then I cried.
That’s how my weigh-in under 200 went today.
There was a lot of build-up to it. Six torturous weeks of crawling through the 200s while my clothes were fitting more and more loosely and my bones were getting more and more prominent. Just in the moments before my weight check, which was also for 2 DietBets, I slipped into scale-appropriate attire. I chose a sleeveless top that I knew would be too tight, because I last attempted to wear it a month ago and it was a no-go, but I wanted to wear something a little tight so that my size would be most accurately reflected in the pictures. (OK, and I also wanted that one for the color variety. Maybe even primarily for the color variety. I am what I am.) When it fit properly — perhaps even with a little wiggle room — I was pretty excited… but I knew better than to bank on due recognition from the scale after the heartbreak of last week.
But that nonsense was not to be repeated.
Today, on day 50 of Power 11, I became a resident of Onederland.
I saw the scale dip below 200 lbs for the first time in 10 years. I did this mid-week weigh-in specifically because I had my August 11th – February 10th weigh-out to do, which is *the* exception to my Power 11 rule about only doing once weekly weight checks (on Sundays). I handily won that Transformer, going from 268.4 pounds in August to 202.8 pounds on February 11th1 — nearly 2.5 times more than what I needed to lose. Even better, it was the most I’ve ever raked in from a Transformer bet: $343.70! Conversely, it was the smallest group of people I’ve ever played with in a Transformer bet, and possibly any DB at all — so it was a VERY pleasant surprise to clean up like that! My theory is that people signed up for it in August and either lost track of it with the calendar busy-ness between start and end dates, or they fell victim to it: back to school, Labor Day, Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year’s, and all the functions, parties, events, and promotions that come along with all those occasions.
It’s always a great day to collect. And I felt pretty proud to review these 6 months of pretty fantastic effort and results.
But the good times ended there.
At the beginning of the week, I was contending with intense lower back pain that seemed to hit out of nowhere last Saturday when I woke up. It followed me into Sunday and Monday, and finally fucked off on Tuesday after some desperate interventions I made on Monday night that either paid off quickly or perfectly coincided with the natural ending of the pain. One of those was changing from sleeping on two pillows to sleeping on only one pillow. After losing 100 pounds, my shoulders are narrower, which means I don’t need a stack of pillows to properly support my neck as a side sleeper. I never thought about it until my back started complaining, but I made that adjustment and not only slept better, but woke up on Tuesday with no pain. I felt rejuvenated enough on Tuesday to hit a PBR on the elliptical in my workout that evening: 7.05 miles in one hour on the elliptical. Woohoo!
On Thursday, I had a bit of an emotional hangover from putting myself through some mental health processing work on Wednesday night. It was a positive development overall that came from that, but it did leave me wrung out on Thursday — which consequently felt like a VERY long day. Friday also kind of dragged, but it ended with dinner with a friend I hadn’t seen since the end of June. Catching up with her was lovely and a much needed top-off of my social cup. (And yes, she was floored to see how different I look now!)
Yesterday was the roughest, though. I woke up with my period, which is a bit of a mixed-bag way to wake up. Now that my cycle has seemingly regulated itself, I feel this intense relief, joy, and gratitude when it shows up… and I also feel a bit of apprehension about it. Will it be debilitatingly heavy? Will the pain immobilize me? Then this spins out into feeling that I don’t even have the right to complain about any of the downsides, because I’m lucky to even be having a period now. (Yes, I have managed to emotionally complicate menstruation. Welcome to my mind.)
Anyway, I went for my haircut and lunch with a friend as planned, and everything was fine. Unfortunately, it all took a turn into death by a thousand cuts when I got to the gym for what was supposed to be my half-marathon training session where I’d be running 25 minutes straight for the first time, after multiple missed attempts at this since last week. Spoiler alert: it didn’t happen again. I got on the treadmill to do the damn thing, and my ankle instantly started whining. I figured I’d try to run anyway; it’s about 50/50 whether the pain subsides or not when I give it a shot when this happens. In the final minute of my warm-up walk, someone decided that the machine beside mine was The One — out of all the unoccupied machines beside absolutely no one in the gym that afternoon — they needed to use. Um, no, ma’am. So I hopped off and changed to a different machine that was apparently not good enough for her. I started my run speed, and my ankle all but tea-kettle screamed at me. I tried a couple of minutes, a couple of foot placement changes, trying to see if it would loosen up… but it wouldn’t. So I had to stop.
I was pissed.
But I was at the gym, and the second half of my planned workout for the day was strength training. I was able to complete my circuit without event, but my earbuds did die two minutes into the first exercise. That’s annoying on its own, but I had JUST charged the suckers because this same nonsense happened earlier in the week. Between reps, I was rage-ordering a USB-C wired pair when I realized that not only was my ankle was still making its displeasure known, but my head had joined in. I suddenly felt the pain of a raging headache that was going precisely nowhere. I used to get headaches pretty regularly, but since I’ve started exercising every day, they’ve been a rare misery. When they hit, though… ugh. Right on cue, I moved to my next machine and felt violent cramps join the full-on assault my body was now waging against me.
This gym session was cursed.
That’s when I decided two things: 1) I was absolutely finishing this strength training, unless my limbs fell the entire fuck off; and 2) My evening plans were not happening.
I did finish the arm weights. With sincere apologies, I did cancel my dinner.
And then I went home, did the barest of minimums of prep work, ate what could passably be called dinner, dosed up on Excedrin PM, and promptly passed out on the couch with my ankle icing and propped up.
When I woke up some time later, my headache had not subsided at all. The recommended amount of time between doses had not passed, but I had no energy and no fucks left to give. I popped two more pills, crawled on top of the heating pad in my bed, and was asleep before 8 PM.
And there I stayed for the next 13 hours.
I woke up today feeling a million times better: no trace of a headache, an appeased ankle, and weaker cramps. I’ve been able to be as productive as I needed to be today to make up for the total unproductiveness of yesterday, and my whole list is now accomplished as of almost 6 PM: 2 loads of laundry, 3 meals prepped and snacks pre-portioned for the week, dishes cleaned and put away, and Power 11 Sunday tasks completed. I also went on a brief social call to atone for my last-minute jilt last night, got gas in my car, and transferred the contents of my work bag that broke this week (because of course!) into the replacement for it I ordered that arrived today.
After the weird week I’ve had, it’s no surprise that my total weight loss this week was 0.6 pounds. It’s frustrating, but not terribly; I am a walking skin sack of bloat, sleepiness, and emotional wear. I did the best I could at balancing my training against what my body told me it needed this week, and I can’t expect the scale to reflect that. And now, that week is over. I am letting this Sunday sunset with my yummy dinner, then taking my cramps to bed before they start biting again.
The most important thing I have learned over the past few months is that when my body talks, I need to listen. Feeling a little behind in my training is the price of admission for ensuring I don’t sideline myself for days or weeks because I was trying to prove the wrong point.
One positive thing I can say with full force is that even though this week tried my patience, disrupted my plans, and forced me into what feels like stalled progress, I have NOT fallen into past traps. I didn’t get angry and storm out of the gym, costing myself any amount of movement altogether. I didn’t push myself to keep plans — with myself or with others — that would have involved suffering for me. Most importantly, I never once reached for comfort in the form of sugar-coated sabotage.
I’ve said it before, and I repeat it for a reason: that’s how I know I’ve changed. Unhealthy food doesn’t solve my problems. It iswas my problems.
My body doesn’t want bad food that tastes good. My body wants care.
Some days go smoothly. Some days go roughly.
All I can do is keep going safely.
I trust myself now. Nothing feels better than that.
If you are reading this and noticing that 202.8 pounds is not below 200 lbs — yes. My below weigh-in at 198 was at 5:30 AM, after a pee, nothing new in my system, and buck-ass naked. This is not how I usually weigh in; my typical checks are between lunch and dinner, fully clothed. I have to submit photos for DietBet, so I follow their guidelines in my normal weigh-ins for consistency across my own records. Why the change, then? Because this milestone was important for me, and I wanted to do it this way. Enough said. ↩︎
Life Can't Weight 