Thirty Two Pounds.
That's how much weight I've lost since February. That's like a small child or something. Or a really big cat. Or a medium sized dog. Anyway that's a lot of weight. I don't even know if I could LIFT and CARRY that much weight but apparently I did for a while but it was kind of spread all over.
So I'm considerably smaller than I was when the year started, but I'm still about, well, thirty-two pounds higher than I was when I left high school. (I'm being kind here. It's probably closer to forty-two than thirty-two but we don't need to think about that.) So there's that. I'm really only halfway there.
I've found there's no way to say "I've lost 32 pounds!" without cringing because, hi, I HAD 32 pounds to lose and there's no way to say that without making myself feel like a giant fat-ass. It's not something you can really brag about. Good for me, I'm notably less fat than I was before. Go me.
I still feel kind of fat. If we're being honest. And why wouldn't we be honest? This is a safe space. HA. That's funny. It's the Internet. There's no such thing as a safe space.
I still feel fat. I still feel unattractive and I still see a fat girl in the mirror when I try things on even though, logically, I know I'm not, anymore. Not as much, anyway. I've still got twenty pounds to go to get to my goal weight and most days I think I'd be content with just shoveling off ten and calling it a day. I'm never going to be super thin, and that's okay. But I know I can be thinner. I'm pretty small. My frame is pretty small. I'm not supposed to be carrying that much weight. I think that's why that first thirty pounds seemed relatively easy - it wasn't supposed to be there.
I've totally fallen off the wagon, though. Counting points and measuring what I eat is so. fucking. tedious. I don't care anymore. Sometimes I'm just hungry and I will eat whatever I damn well please and I feel slightly guilty about it but not guilty enough to write it down or count the points or even change my ways. I'm walking into a minefield right now, because the holidays are coming and I'm going to be royally fucked if I'm not careful. I've tried. I've tried to get back with it. I usually make it a day or two before I fail again. I skipped three or four weeks of weigh-ins because I was afraid to see how much damage I'd done with my binging. Ironically, when I did show up last week, I was down a fraction of a pound, which means... not only did my foodfest NOT damage my efforts, but I still managed to lose a little.
Way to reinforce my negative habits, there, scale.
I'm hoping - oh God, I'm hoping - that I've internalized the habits I've been building for the last however many months and that my portion sizes have naturally shrunk and my body knows when too much is too much and when enough is just right and that I've somehow mastered the ability to eat correctly within my point range without gaining. Otherwise, I don't know.
I need some sort of motivation, or something. Right now, I'm content and winter is coming which means I get to layer all my clothes and wear things that would hide all of my various transgressions and all I want to do is curl up and nap and eat. Granted, if I'm napping, I'm not eating, so maybe that's actually a brilliant strategy.
I also need to start working out again. Softball kind of tided me over during the stretch of fall, as miserable as that was, at least it was something. But with the cold weather comes the Lazies and I'm even more powerless against the Lazies than I am the Baked Pumpkin Goodness that has been permeating my life.
You know what I should do? I should go back to my taekwondo class. Assuming they don't take my black belt away after being gone for six months (ish), it would be something good to do over the winter. I'm just so possessive of my weeknights and my down time. I need my down time to say sane. I can't be constantly on the go like I was in college. It's exhausting and when I get exhausted I get depressed. MY LIFE IS SO FUN.
This post is so disjointed, I don't even know. I think sleep is in order.