Starting Over

I'm going to apologize up front for the negativity oozing from this one. My dog is still sick - much worse, actually, and we're about to head for the emergency vet. Guess the bad thoughts have temporarily taken over my keyboard.

I feel like I’m starting from scratch. I’m scared, I’m angry, I’m frustrated. Pick a negative emotion, I’m probably feeling it. Six months. SIX MONTHS. That’s how long this weight plateau has lasted. When I first reached this weight I was thrilled, and got about a zillion compliments. Even though I still need to lose 105-110 more, many friends have said they can’t believe I need to lose more than 30. I credit the weight training for that – I’m almost 2 sizes smaller passing this weight coming down than I was passing it going up, and I’m hourglass shaped instead of blob-shaped. Not one of those skinny little pictionary hourglasses - more like one that will hold about a week's worth of sand - but it's still a decent shape. Anyway, I digress.

I know plateaus are normal, I know you have to expect them. Had a 3 month one last year. But it just keeps dragging and dragging and dragging. And dragging. To be honest, I haven’t done all I could do. But I’ve done a lot more than most, and it’s at times like this that the demons I keep locked deep down come spilling out. And once again I become angry, and bitter, and resentful at the general unfairness of it all. Why can’t I lose weight eating healthy and going to the gym 3-4 times a week? WHY?! I know some folks who, if they ate what I ate and did my workout routine, could be waif models inside of a year. All I can do is try to swallow my anger with my thyroid meds and try to work back up to 6 workouts a week. Because that’s the only damn thing that does any good.

When I first reached this weight, I couldn’t tell you how excited I was. Tempered with the reality of what I’ve got to go, of course, but still, losing 40 is a big milestone and I was proud to have reached it. Was really proud to have exited the land of sizes in the 20s and landed in the teens (women will understand this). Still a far cry from the size 6 I started at… but Rome wasn't built in a day.

I was so excited to buy clothes in these new, smaller sizes. I was blown away to realize that my shirt size (which has gone down farther and faster than my hips) was now at a point that I could shop in regular stores. Hallelujah and break out the Visa card!

But now, after 6 months of no progress at all… I can’t look in the mirror any more and see how far I’ve come. For a while there my brain was stuck on size 24, so when I looked in the mirror and saw me at a size 18, I thought “hey, I’m looking pretty good.” But after all this time my mental picture finally caught up with my physical reality, and now I look in the mirror and want to cry. Sometimes do. Because, while I may be looking better, I’m faaaaaaaaar from looking good. And it’s just so damn hard. Technically, I’m glad that my mental picture has finally updated itself, because I needed that; at this stage it's dangerous for me to be happy with my reflection. But add that to this endless plateau, and I get self-loathing and despair that I will ever succeed.

So, I feel like I’m starting over. Once again I feel like a giant, lazy blob that will never be fit, never be thin, never get back to what I was. I feel like I’m starting an insurmountable uphill battle against my weight all over again. And I know that’s not true – my fitness level is astronomical compared with where I really started. My weight is a lot lower than where I started. My blood pressure is lower. I’ve even been able to wean myself down to 1/3 of my migraine medication dosage; I’ll be off it altogether by spring. Medically, things are looking great. But knowing it and feeling it are two different things.

It’s tough to be cheerful when thinking “hey, in 5 or 6 years I may be thin again” when there’s people out there losing 100 pounds in a year or two. They’re taunting me from TV. Usually on Oprah. And while part of me wants to admire them, the rest of me wants to hate them. Because, inevitably, their story is along the lines of “well Oprah, I realized that if I was going to lose weight I had to stop eating a large pizza for dinner and 4 quarter pounders for a bedtime snack.” This latest weight loss show, she had on several people who never even took up exercise. They literally were able to lose 100+ pounds just by dialing back on the gluttony. (Don’t even get me started on the ones who cop to the surgery.)

How can I even compare with that?! “Well Oprah, I realized if I was ever gonna lose weight I had to eat even less grilled chicken and organic veggies and soy milk on my whole wheat cereal while getting in 6-8 workouts a week?!?!

What chance to I possibly stand? That’s the emotional pit o’ despair in which I am currently wallowing.

Unless you’ve done it, words can’t describe how scary it is to stare a 3-digit weight loss in the face and decide to take it on. When I was younger, I remember my mental “Oh My God” weight was 150 pounds. How ironic it turned out to be my magic number… to lose. It took me years of soul-searching and emotional preparation before I worked up the courage to turn my (and my husband’s) life upside down to do this. But now that I’ve done that part and have gone along for a while now with some measurable success, I somehow lost my momentum and got stuck in the middle. I’m not sure yet what it’s gonna take to get unstuck, but I’m never going to stop looking for it. Can’t, if I ever want to look in the mirror again without cringing. But I suppose if I’m going to find it any time soon, I need to realize I won’t find it at the bottom of this pit.

I’ll have my day on Oprah. It’s just going to take a little longer than I’d hoped.