Today is my 300th day of this… thing. Nearly 10 straight months of… doing this… this.
Not “journey”. I’m already not much for euphemisms, and that one is so over-used, it’s at the living edge of cliché meaninglessness.
Journeys imply a trajectory with some amount of planning; a clear starting point with a clear destination. A trip of some length, but overall pleasurable.
My past 300 days have skewed positive, but that’s where the similarities end. My this has been meandering. At times haphazard, and at other times meticulous.
Uncharted. Arduous. Surprising. Surreal.
I don’t know exactly where I’m going. I can’t picture exactly what it will look like when I get there. I have no idea how long it will take. I’m forging a path forward by instinct and knowledge I accumulate as I go, in a self-contained world with its own rules, patterns, and logic that don’t always hold parity with anything in the larger world. The experience is changing me in every way. And I have no intention of going back to the home I left.
It’s more like an odyssey. That combination of strangeness, adventure, movement, and purposeful quest.
I’ve learned how to nourish myself well. I’ve learned how to move my body safely, in ways that push it to new heights and help it strengthen. I’ve learned how to channel my positive emotions into healthy pursuits. I’ve learned how to process my negative emotions through healthy outlets. I’ve learned how to honor the commitments I make to myself, even — especially — when it’s not convenient. I’ve learned how to take up more space through taking up less space. I’ve learned how to say yes. I’ve learned how to say no. I’ve learned how to challenge myself in the right ways. I’ve learned that movement and self-care are gifts, not punishments. I’ve learned what I’m really made of, because I gave myself the chance to shine in the dark.
That’s not a journey. That’s a love story. A self-love story.
The 115-pound (and counting) weight loss, the 6-size (and counting) decrease in pants sizes, the rings that fall off fingers and necklines that slip off shoulders and shoes that slide off feet… details. Minor plot points. Background noise. The main character is still venturing forth, ready to meet the future.
Will she live happily ever after? I don’t know. I certainly hope so.
More importantly than hoping, though — I believe it’s possible. Because she’s making it possible.
My weight loss has been crawwwwwwling for the past 3 months. Yes, a slow-down is normal in drastic weight loss after months of quick drops. And also yes, I’m undoubtedly in body recomposition right now. And yes again, 23.8 pounds is still arguably a respectable amount to lose in 12 weeks. Yeses and valid justifications aside, this glacial pace is not my jam.
It got to the point that for the first time since June, I lost a DietBet. Like, it wasn’t even close; in 3 weeks, I only lost 3 lbs and missed my 4% goal of 187.5 by 4.9 lbs. I hadn’t even broken into the 180s.
Unfortunately, I was on a bit of a DB sign-up spree at the time I signed up for that March Mayhem Kickstarter, so two more were a week from closing — and I was even further from those goals of exactly 187.0.
Ugh. Now I was losing more money than weight.
What could I do but lose graciously? I thought of it as rebalancing the sheet of me taking other people’s money these past 10 months. Can’t win ’em all.
What I did not do was use this VERY minor setback as an excuse to go off the rails. The thought never entered my mind. I stuck to the plan.
What was the plan? The plan was to thwart this sluggish plateau-adjacent nonsense which has overstayed its (never-really-)welcome. Historically, my body has responded well to a bit of healthy, intentional upheaval, so I decided to mix things up with a zero-sugar week — not even any fruit (RIP reliable breakfast staple). In the process of designing that menu for this week, I noticed that I had never adjusted my daily calorie intake down to account for my body’s smaller size. Since I’m being honest, I’ll confess one more cardinal sin: I haven’t been tracking my calorie intake at all. My plates have been filled with balanced whole foods and I’ve been training my body, so I never stopped to question if the food could be behind the stalling weight loss. It’s no wonder that until this moment, I didn’t realize how small my deficit had become. After crunching the numbers from my past several weeks’ worth of meals, the fact was inescapable: I was just barely outside of the maintenance zone. Honey, we are not in maintenance yet! That my body had been allowing me to burn any fat at all was a bit of a miracle. (THANK YOU, BODY!) I also decided to pump the brakes on intense cardio this week — a dubious call with a half-marathon less than a month away, but hey, I live on the edge — and switch to post-meal digestion walks coupled with a focus on strength and core work.
With all this in mind, I dutifully refined my week’s menu to stay within a daily deficit appropriate to weight loss, compiled my grocery list, made the haul, and batch-prepped all 3 meals in full on Saturday. My exercise plan shifted immediately, even with erratic temperatures and weather conditions throwing wrenches left and right. With two impending DB weigh-ins with windows of Monday-Tuesday and Tuesday-Wednesday, it wasn’t looking good when the scale spat out 191.2 at my Sunday weigh-in — a measly half-pound down from the previous week.
As someone who ignores the scale at every other time, it was a major departure when something possessed me to check that cheeky appliance on Monday morning.
And it was an even more-major departure when that little imp showed me 187.2. As in, 0.02 lbs away from both DB goals, literally overnight.
I am not a fan of this type of suspense. I can barely tolerate it in a cozy mystery. I arguably can’t tolerate it at all cinematically. In real life, forget it. I am not built for drama.
This was a real test of mettle. I could go extreme and over-exercise and under-fuel and wring my hands for the ensuing 24 hours, or I could honor my commitment and trust my body and the process to respond well enough to result in DB victories. After all, this whole thing is about so much more than a few DietBets. Winning/keeping money is great, but it’s in no way healthy to go full nutcase at the possible expense of the broader arc. That type of compulsive behavior is the ugly cousin of what got me to over 300 lbs. So I chose responsibly and made my peace with the fact that the die was cast already, and all I had to do was stay the course — my body had just given me a loud and clear signal that it was happy with what I was doing. This was a moment to listen, not to hijack the convesation.
And, well…
I just love a story with a happy ending, don’t you?
I’m spending more time outside now, taking as many opportunities as I can to walk outside and maximize my time on my feet now that we’re inside 30 days before the half marathon. As I learned during 75 Hard, being outside lifts my spirits almost instantly — even when I have to drag myself out the door for it. On an evening walk today, I got caught in a light rain, which happened to coincide with Spotify serving me an irresistible bop. So naturally, my walk turned into a strut, which turned into a flat-out dance.
My uphill party of one went on for the remainder of the 10-minute walk between where I was and my front door, even as passing cars sporadically sped past. With about 5 minutes left, “Still Bad” by Lizzo came on and it was almost too on the nose to bear. As my boogie-ing took off into the stratosphere, a big fancy SUV started coming up the road behind me. It slowed down as it approached a stop sign, and I saw the driver look my direction as the car pulled even with me. With a slight moment of hesitation as he continued to roll forward, he gave me a couple little horn blasts. And I don’t know exactly why, but it absolutely made my day. And I… gave him a big cheesy grin and WAVED as he drove away.
Maybe I should be more self-conscious about my physical behavior in public. But you know what? I spent my entire adult life being self-conscious everywhere, with everyone, all the time. Add to that the fact that at this time last year, trying to make it up that incline would have taken me all the way out. Now, I can dance up it, for the multipleth time that day, in the rain.
Damn right I give zero fucks what anybody thinks.
This is healing.
Plot twist: I’m doing great I make that been-through shit look sexy anyway 🔥
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. ↩︎
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.
…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 had plenty of cringe moments at my house of fitness.
I’ve danced like no one was watching — because I thought no one was — in the middle of the bathroom, only to turn around and see a half-amused, half-“I feel you” locker room co-habitant walking past while looking directly at me.
I’ve had unfortunately timed eye contact with a man stepping off the machine in front of me while I was absent-mindedly licking sweat off my lip, breaking the eye contact, but looking back to find him still looking at me while I was trapped by my run in progress on the machine. That was one of the most awkward stranger waves I’ve ever been a part of.
I’ve publicly battled a live wardrobe malfunction while my underwear fully quit on me underneath my skin-tight workout pants as I was trying to run on the treadmill. I tried to surreptitiously hike them up through, and then under, my bottoms — but it didn’t last more than a minute or two no matter what I did. And that little adventure was just yesterday.
But tonight, when I threw my bare arms up in victory pose above my sweat-soaked top, said “WOO!”, and took a selfie when I hit 9.04 miles in 70 minutes on the elliptical? No embarrassment at all.
That moment was mine.
And I’d relive it every day without changing a thing.
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 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. ↩︎
We all know I could easily exceed a thousand words in this post, but I’ll do this instead:
I hit my goal of losing more than 100 pounds by today, AND entered the 100s in the same weigh-in.
I did not expect that.
Which is probably why the emotional surge hit so hard. I let it. I felt the huge rush of pride and excitement and relief and surprise and accomplishment overpower me.
A single sob. That’s all there was.
Then I slid into my red pants that haven’t fit in nearly a decade, noticed in the mirror how they made my ass look fire, and sashayed out the door, all smiles.
Life Can't Weight 