I found out recently that I’ve lost 10 lbs. and 4.4% body fat. The thing is, I’ve been working out regularly for almost 3 years now and this is by far the biggest change for my body. I’ve always wanted to be that person who says they’ve lost 10 lbs, and now I am. But I’m not done.
I’m still working on it. About 6 weeks ago I reached a point that I was finally able to start changing the way I eat. And as time passes I find greater strength in making the right choices with my food. I’m able to accept that food is a fuel in addition to it being the occasional subject of celebration and pleasure, but in very appropriate portions.
Initially, I felt I was depriving myself of the foods I love to eat. This led to a feeling of panic and anguish, fretting over the loss of something yummy, feeling like I was missing out on something THAT EVERYBODY ELSE COULD EAT EXCEPT ME! woo!
But I’m learning that eating right does not mean that I don’t get to enjoy life just like everybody else. It means I don’t need food to be happy and it also means that every once in a while I can enjoy a treat without it becoming my regular choice of food. And the novelty of that food truly allows it to be a treat.
It’s not easy for me. I have moments that I want to tear into some food stuffs with sheer abandon. But then I remind myself of those feelings that finally led to my rock bottom. I can’t stand that I’ve been working really hard in the gym only to remain the same size week after week, month after month, year after year. And I know what I did wrong, I rewarded myself with food, I rationalized that if I worked out I could eat whatever I wanted. Portions be damned. And for a time, that did prevent me from gaining weight, but that wasn’t my ultimate goal.
I feel like I had to get honest with myself, brutally fucking honest. And that’s what I’m doing, struggling to do, and determined to keep doing.