I have lost 30 pounds.
That's a lot of pounds.
At least, that is what I keep telling myself.
See, my goal is 110 pounds. So 30 compared to 110 is not a lot.
But I can't let myself get there.
One pound at a time.
Thirty pounds is a lot. I have worked hard. My whole lifestyle has changed. The way I eat, my relationship with food, how I think about it, how much I eat it, how often I consume it, EVERYTHING about it has completely changed. My addiction to it as something I could control and something I needed is gone. I see exercise and working out as something not to dread or hate, but rather to enhance myself, to help myself, and I have found things I enjoy doing to work out such as disc golf, boxing, swimming, walking, and lifting weights. And, of course my most favorite, playing basketball, the game I love.
But, its slow going. I have been doing this since the end of October, so almost 5 months, and I have only lost 30lbs. That's embarrassing to type actually, because in my own estimation, with the amount of work this has taken and the amount of time I spend thinking about it, talking about it, working on it, etc., it should be more. The goals I had set for myself haven't happened as quickly as I was hoping for, as I was striving for.
But what is most frustrating to me about this whole journey is that I am still suffering the consequences of the choices I made long ago to become overweight. The decisions I made that led to this with all the laziness and the not caring and the stubbornness and the denial and the pizza and cheese sticks and Mt. Dew.... All of that which is now either gone or changed or enjoyed in moderation, well it doesn't fully matter just yet. There is progress, but I am still overweight. I still am not at a place where I want to try for babies, I am still at a place where a lot of my clothes don't fit, I am still at a place where I look in the mirror and really dislike what I see. My knees hurt, my back hurts, I still get winded doing stupid stuff... But why? I have worked SO. FREAKING. HARD. I am doing SO. FREAKING. MUCH. But the consequences... I still get to pay for those..
I know, I know... Someday I won't have to anymore. Someday, I will look back and this will all be worth it and it will be a distant memory and all these struggles will seem small compared to the triumph, but at this moment, I am tired of the consequences because I am working darn hard. Why did the old me ignore all the people who loved me gently telling me this was a bad path? Why did the old me decide that denial was better than punching it in the face? Why did the old Brittany rely so heavily on stupid food? Cause the me now gets to deal with it, and I will for a long time.
My apologies this isn't a whole lot more encouraging and happy. This is honesty.
