It was a question I got from a friend a few weeks ago.
“Have you stopped losing weight?”
It wasn’t meant in a malicious way at all – it was simply curiosity brought on by observation. Correct observation.
I’ve stopped losing weight.
Of course, if I could count up how many times I’ve lost the kilos between the numbers of 105-102, I would have lost about another 30-odd kilos by now.
I am back to feeling the fraud. Weighed in at 103kg today.
Six weeks ago, my last blog post was full of positivity and joy and enthusiasm.
I’m back to where I was the week before that. At a loss.
I seem to have no control when sweets are put before me. I reach for the cake and the biscuits and chocolate.
It’s hard. I know I can just not have it. So many times people say “Ren, just don’t eat it!”
And yeah, they’re right. I should “just” not eat it.
Wouldn’t life be simple if we could just switch off what’s become almost innate within ourselves? 30 years of eating emotions doesn’t just go away. 30 years of living a certain way doesn’t just stop.
The weight loss industry would be seriously fucked if that was the case.
There would be many a starving personal trainer.
Anyway, the thing I find the hardest to deal with is “occasion eating”. Almost every week for the past six weeks or so there’s been a birthday or an outing or something happening that centres around food. And it’s bloody difficult to not eat. And particularly not eat all those sweet things. I make plans along the lines of “Ok, I will only have a small piece of cake and one small sweet”… but when I get there, control FLIES out of the fucking window.
If I don’t allow myself anything at all, then I turn into an absolute hag because I WANT to eat it then. It becomes deprivation and those of us with experience in this game knows just how well that works.
And of course, I turn into a hag when I come down off the sugar rush too.
It’s a lose-lose.
So, as a result, I will have a huge gain over the weekend, fight through the week to re-balance, then start again the following week only to have another occasion thrown at me.
Of course I fell off the tracking wagon again as a result. I don’t want to know or care. Lazy apathy plays a part and that old feeling of “SO SICK OF THIS!” is back, though at the moment I am fairly certain that has more to do with the fact that I’ve only had a few hours sleep after the flight the manbeast was on last night was seriously delayed. Didn’t get home until about 2.30am. Had to be up at 7.15am. ARGH.
Tiredness makes everything seem so much worse.
All of the above means that some friends are noticing that I am not shrinking anymore, when clearly I have a lot further to go.
I do. I set a goal of 77kg to lose. I’ve got another 28kg to knock off.
Sometimes I feel as though I am disappointing them. So many of my friends have found inspiration from me, just like I found inspiration from those who came before me and now – even though I know they’re not – I feel as if they’re looking at me and quietly asking “What’s happened?”
I’m trying to figure out that bit myself.
Just as an aside, upon reading the above post (originally published today on my WW blog), one of my readers left this message for me:
That there is the reason I started doing this, it’s the reason why I still cling to the hope that I can see it through to the end and lead a long, happy life unhindered by excess weight and the pain and illness that is caused by it.