…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.
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. ↩︎
Somehow in the past 2 days or so, I managed to tweak my back. It hasn’t been debilitating, but it did inform my decision to take a rest day yesterday, opting instead to spend it and most of today laid up on top of my heating pad. After taking it easy today to not only treat my back, but also to bank on a crowdless gym during the Super Bowl when I went to complete my half-marathon running session as planned, I hit a snag: I failed to remember that the Sunday gym hours are shorter than on weekdays. By the time I got there, as the employee at the check-in desk informed me, they were 18 minutes from closing.
There went my planned 45-minute treadmill session and strength training circuit.
For a split second, I considered taking a second rest day in a row. What was the point of a 15-minute workout?
Consistency. Showing up for myself. That was the point. That’s the entire point of all of this.
So I dutifully took my place on a treadmill in the nearly empty gym, making it my purpose to log a mile. My treadmill pace has been a modest 4.3 mph; in under 15 minutes, I was not going to be able to pull off the distance I wanted, even with a truncated 1-minute walking warm-up. So my pace tonight — and from this moment until the next increase — was 4.5.
I got 1.02 miles in 14 minutes.
Seahawks. Patriots. Whatever. After snatching a victory from the jaws of defeat, I feel like the true champion of Super Bowl Sunday 😏
This coming week is going to be about some serious pushing of limits.
Six months ago, I was in the same vacation spot. But everything was different.
Then: heat of summer. Now: dead of winter.
Then: north side beach. Now: south side beach.
Then: could barely walk through the sand. Now: daily runs on the sand.
Then: 70 pounds heavier. Now: less than 70 pounds left to lose.
Those are just the easy-to-spot distinctions. It would take a lot more time to go into how very fragile, wobbly, unconfident, and ginger I was Then. Promising things were awaiting me at home after my summer trip, but I wasn’t feeling steady about them. I had lost trust in the universe, while slowly clawing my way out from under the pile of collapsed rubble that had been my worldview, and bargaining with myself to keep going.
I didn’t know why to keep going. I had taken the part of my brain that asks and tries to answer that question, offline. I just… did.
Running on the hardened sand at the very end of January was a much more meaningful experience than sunning on the gritty sand at the very beginning of August. It’s hard to compare two experiences that are so drastically different, but what makes it possible is me. I’m more different than any side-by-side pictures of the coast separated by seasonality. My seasonal changes are also visible, but it’s the ones only I can see that are the most pronounced, the most powerful, and the most profound. But the best part of all of that is the ownership I feel. I have rebuilt and reclaimed all of it, and used it to propel me forward.
That’s why in the Now, I had to frequently pause during my oceanside jogs. It wasn’t to catch my breath. It wasn’t to rest tired legs. It was to let the waves of months of emotion wash over me as I involuntarily recognized how far I’ve come.
I can’t wait to see what further developments come about by the next time I find myself on a beach.
It’s not the most glamorous way to blog, but I’m propped up on a pile of pillows topped with heating pad #1 resting against my lower back while heating pad #2 hugs my neck and shoulders. Shoveling 10+ inches of snow from a driveway that seems to magically expand with each Herculean scoop can apparently have this effect. I’ve only gotten about 30% of the snow cleared after 75 laborious minutes today, and there’s more of it on the way tomorrow! God rest my s(h)oul(ders).
As much as I’m very much not loving doing this exhausting chore in sub-freezing temperatures, I’m finding motivation from a surprising source. It’s not because I’m the only one who can do it. It’s not because I’m coming up with clever rewards for myself for making progress. (I’m not, but damn, that probably would have been smart.) It’s not even because of my supreme abhorrence for feeling trapped, which I quite literally am so long as my car has no means of egress from this house.
It’s… because I need to run. Not want. Not feel like. Need.
Yup. My running addiction is officially so serious that it is now the driver for me to dig out untold cubic feet of heavy snow for hours. I am compelled to exert myself physically by the promise of moreintense exercise.
^I saw this on Instagram the other day and instinctively screen grabbed it. As unhinged as the sentence that preceded the above image sounds, it’s true — and it’s because running has saved my sanity this past year. That’s not an overstatement, an exaggeration, a hyperbole, or a dramatization; it’s a fact. I owe everything that finally started going right last summer, to running.
Excavating the snow between me and the nearest treadmill is going to take a lot of time (and heating pads and Advil) across a stretch of 2-3 days, but I’m not the least bit deterred. I’m too eager to get back to the gym to resume my training sessions. Who knew that could even be a thing?!
I’ve been reluctant to claim the title “runner” for myself; runners are lean and fit and proper athletes. The half-marathon I’m participating in selected exclusively people who meet that description as their official ambassadors for their race events, so this is not a definition I’ve invented; it’s societal. Runners look the part.
But you know what? Runners are also chonky and awkwardly built and accident-prone messes with bum ankles. They are tentative and unskilled and constantly sore. They are learning and graceless and quick to sweat. They are hopeful and resilient and tough self-coaches who are stronger than they look.
I read somewhere that if you run, you can call yourself a runner.
I’m in the huge swath of the US that’s being pummeled with 24+ straight hours of falling snow. As I write this, my internet is verging on an outage that has lasted nearly half the day, so I’m tethering my phone in order to post this lest I fail my Power 11 tasks. BUT dropped wifi is the smallest inconvenience I can imagine of the many that had the potential to occur during this storm, so I am certainly not complaining!
Knowing that this crazy weather event was coming to paralyze us for at least a day or two, I reconfigured my half-marathon training plan to give myself a rest day today, and to make tomorrow a cross-training day so that I can do it from home. (Also, I’m considering the hours of shoveling I’ll be doing tomorrow as upper-body strength training, cuz clearing an entire driveway of a foot of heavy, wet snow is nothing if not a workout.) It kinda stinks to miss this stretch of days from actual proper running, but them’s the breaks. I’m adapting as best I can and staying active even if it looks different from “usual”. Between the snow and my end-of-week travel, this whole week is going to require some creative license, so it’ll be an adventure.
It can be a chore to coax myself out the door for a gym session sometimes, but truly the toughest piece of Power 11 so far has been limiting my weight checks to once per week. It’s been getting slightly easier, but sometimes the urge to peek is pretty strong, especially when I suspect I’ll like what I see. I’ve been noticing a lot of physical changes lately, which is usually an indicator of a friendly upcoming scale reading, so I was highly anticipating today’s weigh-in. Sure enough, I posted a drop of 3.4 lbs for this week!
This means a few big things:
I am currently at my lowest weight in 10 years. My all-time lowest (real-adult) weight was from March 1st of 2016.
I’m 12.6 lbs away from that number.
By March 1st of this year, I should be below it. (🤯)
I will be below it.
I am only 3.8 lbs away from being 100 lbs down from my highest recent weight, recorded about 11 months ago.
If I hit that milestone by a specific date within the next 3 weeks, it will be the ultimate redemption for me.
I’m comfortably on track to do it.
I’m gonna do it.
I’m within spitting distance of Onederland. (Actual pounds away: 5.2 lbs. And now you know how much I weigh. And have weighed. 🫣)
Yeah — I unhid my weight on DietBet the other day.
I don’t have a specifically meaningful date in mind for this, but it’ll be sometime next month.
Something’s getting pierced after that.
I’d say I can’t believe it, except I totally can. My body is sore all over in that satisfying way that whispers, “yes, you did run 5 elliptical miles and then do 30 minutes of strength training yesterday.” My obliques are the sorest part of me, and that’s purely from actual running.
It feels so good to feel sore. I’m getting smaller, yes, but I’m also getting stronger and fitter. THAT’S what this type of soreness means. It means results. It means effectiveness. It means payoff.
Since I got serious about my health in mid-June of last year, I have lost 76.6 pounds. When June rolls back around this year, I will have lost more than 100 lbs, completed 75 Hard, finished Power 11, and crossed the finish line of a freakin’ half-marathon — all since the previous June.
January-2025 Me wouldn’t recognize Present-Day Me — physically or otherwise.
I had a new DietBet to weigh in for, and a gym session planned for later, so I figured I’d get into my workout clothes and do the weigh-in right before it was time to head out. With my weigh-ins under more scrutiny these days, I wanted to make sure what I was wearing wasn’t too baggy. Since all of my go-to tops are laughably loose these days, I went into my workout shirts drawer and found a top that I remember fitting when I was last around my current weight many moons ago, although it seemed unlikely to fit when I held it up in front of me. I tried it on, and… to my complete and total shock, it not only fit, but it was also roomy! This top is more hanging off me than I am wearing it. I think that has to do with the way my weight loss has been working this time around: my shoulders narrowed at a much greater clip than the rest of my torso, so tops are a bit of a challenge right now. Work-out tops in particular tend to slide off my shoulders and feel flowy around my midsection, while somehow still also kind of fitting in that area. It’s tough to explain, but suffice it to say, nothing really fits at the moment. Anyway, even with that all going on, it was a fabulous surprise to have blazed right through the time when that top would have mostly fit, and right into looseness. I’ll wear it until it, too, becomes an almost-dress. (And good news: my DB weigh-in was accepted. Two more video weigh-ins to go!)
Then, it was off to the gym. Today’s workout in my half marathon training plan was scheduled to be cross-training, so I went to my old friend, the elliptical. I don’t know what had me all fired up, but I was immediately hitting the pace that it usually takes me the first 20-30 minutes to work up to — and I sustained or exceeded it for the entire time. Now, when I say “the entire time”, that wound up being far more than the 45-60 minutes I’d budgeted, because I had one of my classic evil elliptical thoughts within the first 5 minutes. And I fulfilled that evil thought by making today, the day I broke 8 miles.
To add some personal WOW to that, I notched those 8(.02, to be exact) miles in 76 minutes, which is a 9:29 pace. This is a personal best pace, elapsed time, AND distance.
I have never run a 10-minute mile on flat land, let alone under 10 minutes. As I am discovering through my treadmill trainings to work up to half-marathon-level endurance, what happens on the elliptical has virtually no bearing on what happens on an actual surface: the motion is different, the muscle coordination is distinct, and speed does not translate at all. Even with all that being true, it’s a BFD that I did this. That I can do this. Because 5 months ago, I couldn’t even keep the elliptical moving — at any speed — for 5minutes, let alone 5 miles — or 8. I’m only now working up to sustain a full mile-run in one go on the treadmill. But my elliptical history tells me that when the half marathon is almost upon us 5 months from now, I’ll be ready for it.
The type of run I do on the elliptical may be dissimilar from the type of run I do on the treadmill, but the perseverance, self-coaching, and physical stamina apply across all types of fitness training. The beginning was slow on the elliptical, and I approached it intentionally and methodically, knowing it would take whatever time it would take. The result? I couldn’t hit a full mile for a while, and I unfortunately wasn’t recording these milestones yet — but I got there in a few hard-earned weeks. And then, it wasn’t long until I hit 2. I hit 3.5 — breaking 3 for the first time — on August 19th, which was 2 months after I started my NEW DAYS. I broke 4 just 2 weeks later, on September 2nd. My goal at the time was to break 5 by the end of this year. Instead, I did it on September 19th. Then I broke 6 later that same week, on the 23rd. I thought that’d be plenty; I’d proven my point. But then, on October 28th, I hit 7 — just a little over a month later. And now, just under 3 weeks beyond that, 8.
Progress has a way of being self-perpetuating and exponential. I had no plan for hitting a certain mileage on the elliptical, and certainly no targeted date for doing it. I let the rhythm carry me, responded to my bursts of energy, and was realistic about checking in with my body and its radical ideas about taking me farther and faster. It hasn’t steered me wrong yet.
While I do have a training plan for running the halfer, I am still being agile and adjusting as necessary. I’ve already ratcheted things up a little here in the first week of training, but not in any kind of unrealistic or unsustainable way. It will still take me a while to be able to run an uninterrupted mile, and the pace will be unimpressive; but I’ll get there. And then, it won’t be long until I hit 2. Then 3. Then 13.1.
I didn’t think I’d be genuinely excited about training for a half marathon, but… I am genuinely excited about training for a half marathon.
I missed the 50-day milestones update yesterday, so I’ll rattle off a few here:
Since February 20th, I have lost 80.4 lbs.
Since June 18th (the start of NEW DAYS), I have lost 60.8 of those lbs.
I’ve gone from being able to run barely 5 minutes, to 76 minutes (on the elliptical).
I’ve dropped from a snug 26 pants size, to a loose 18.
I’ve gone down 2 underwear sizes and 1 sports bra size.
I’ve dropped from a 3X shirt size to — depending on the manufacturer — L or XL.
But the most exciting stat is unquantifiable: I feel better. Actually better. In every way a person can feel any kind of way.
My theme for this chapter of my life is Reclaim. I am nowhere close to being done, but I am so proud of how well I’ve done with honoring that theme without wavering for the past 5 months.
I actually truly believe I can do this. I can see myself crossing the literal half marathon finish line, and the figurative finish line of this mission I have set for myself to reach a healthy size. It’s just… incredible. It’s a feeling I’ve never had before, and it has me absolutely floored. I don’t know what to do with it.
Last week, when I was weighing out for a Kickstarter, I got an email from DietBet saying that their algorithm had “flagged [my] account due to unusual weight loss patterns.” At first, I was kind of offended. How dare they impugn my integrity! Then I paused and realized… yeah, dropping 45 pounds in 3 months is a reasonable thing to raise a non-sentient eyebrow over. And that’s only the weight loss they can see; from late February to the time of my composing this sentence, I’ve actually lost 80.4 lbs.
It made me step back and ask myself if I’m doing this right. I’ve been operating from a standpoint of prioritizing mental health, and treating the weight loss as secondary (although actively encouraged). Is it healthy to see this kind of change this quickly? My Transformer progress chart, updated as of this morning’s weigh-in for round 3, is pretty staggering. If my weight loss continues at this clip, I could lose more than 30% of my body weight within the DB’s 6-month window and wind up disqualified from winning. I crunched, re-crunched, and even snap-crackle-popped the numbers because I couldn’t believe it — but it’s a very real possibility unless I slow down. (I know you can’t see any pounds in my screenshot, but you don’t need them to understand what’s going on here. For reference, the final 2 diamond points on the chart represent the overall target goal of -10% of my starting weight. I am well below that line already, and we’re only halfway through as of this moment.)
The answer to that question is yes. I have not done anything unhealthy in service of my goals. I have prioritized my exercise time and treated it as sacrosanct. I have honored my nutritional needs so that I am fueling my body, not poisoning it. I have been cognizant of getting proper rest and enough sleep so that I don’t tear myself down. I am taking in enough calories and macros. I am not engaging in obsessive behaviors with the scale or at the gym. And very importantly, I do not have any disordered eating habits pointing to bulimia or anorexia.
The biggest change I’ve made is quitting sugar. Rapid weight loss is what happens when you quit sugar after a lifetime of ingesting every crystal of it in sight. Period, the end.
I expect my weight loss will slow, and it will be maddening when that happens — this quick progression has spoiled me. I don’t mean to suggest it hasn’t come with effort on my part; it certainly has. It’s very difficult to cut out sugar entirely, and it takes me a lot of time to meal prep every week even with just trying to keep my sugar intake low rather than zero. I spend a good amount of time each week on physical activity, too. But as the truism goes, you can’t outrun a bad diet. Never has my body been so grateful as it has these past few months that I’ve let it detox from the white stuff. I’d choose this feeling over a decadent dessert any time, every time, over and over again.
So I feel ok that I now have to submit to an extra level of scrutiny during my DietBet weight checks until they remove the flag on my account. It turns out that it’s not any more annoying to record a video of myself getting on the scale than it is to take 2 still photos. In fact, I may actually prefer the video method. It’s hard to complain when my body is this happy.
Over the weekend, I had two other affirming experiences that underscore the positive ways my body is reflecting the changes I’m making. First, I had a haircut on Saturday — my first since the very first week of this whole NEW DAY chapter of my life. My stylist, not having seen me since 58 pounds ago, not only remarked on how great she thought I looked and nearly jumped out of her skin when I answered her question about how much I’d lost, but she also said my hair looks healthier than ever. It’s gotten a little thicker and is growing more quickly. That’s not something I expected to be possible after a certain age, but she couldn’t get over the difference.
The other experience was going for reflexology massages with a friend. We were unexpectedly made to strip down to the waist when it was time for the deep tissue massage, which we were having done in the same room. In the past, I would have lobbied to keep my clothes on, thankyouverymuch. Not this time. Bye bye, shirt and bra. It’s not exactly a smoke show under there, but it’s not a paralyzing source of shame in front of a bunch of other women anymore. And hey, I have had so much relief from that massage in the days since: greater range of motion in my neck, no stiffness in my ankles in the mornings, less soreness in my shoulders. Worth it.
I also found 2 pairs of pants on clearance over the weekend which were a size down, but I bought them anyway because I keep pantsing myself when I walk. My best estimate was I’d be about 2-3 weeks out from wearing either of them, and I’d fill the gap with skirts and dresses (brrr!) until then.
About an hour ago, I tried one of the pairs on.
They fit.
I cried.
Happy body, happy tears. And none too soon.
Last night was the first night of my half marathon training. It went well, but this is gonna suuuuuuuck.
I came right home and officially registered for the event.
Life Can't Weight 