I was delightfully surprised by the scale this week. My water intake wasn't so great and the scale pretty much stuck at 183-184 all week. Saturday I was feeling pretty deflated: the scale was sticking again, one year is rapidly approaching, clothes felt like they were tighter than normal. And while it's never a feeling of giving up, it definitely leaves me wondering what else I can do differently. I'm definitely proud of how far I have come, I won't argue that, but I am a huge bit disappointed when I see that I've lost just barely more than 20 pounds since January 1st. Eight and a half months later, I was hoping to be a good deal lighter than I am now. Twenty-one pounds in eight and a half months is barely 2.5 pounds per month. Ugh! I miss how easy it was in the beginning, how the pounds were just flying off. Granted, I was eating about the same amount of calories as I am now, and I was 65 pounds heavier, but dammit, it was nice! I don't even want that overnight-I'm-suddenly-skinny dream so many have - just a constant 1-2 pound loss per week would be nice. I'll just keep dreaming, and hopefully make it happen.
So, next week marks one year. It's bittersweet as I see how far I've come, but also how far I have left to go. I keep holding onto that mantra of "the year is going to pass whether I do something or not." Ultimately, I have to remember that it won't matter how long it takes, that no one but me will care (and once there, even I probably won't!) and that the end is all that matters.
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