For writing a weight loss blog, I’ve recently been really bad at talking about my weight. This is because I am a coward. I should have an awesome joke here but the truth is I spent a good portion of last week terrified that I was starting to literally snowball down progress mountain. Gaining speed and girth until I ended up in some dark restaurant Yelp! has never heard of, eating a hamburger that has smaller hamburgers for buns.
To be honest, in the past three weeks my scale had crept up to 272, which is a horrifying number that I had promised to never see again. Though it pains me to say this, 272 is what giving up feels like. There’s a bright side to this, though, as I woke up on Saturday weighing in at 265. That’s seven pounds lost in a week. These aren’t new pounds by any means, but it did manage to give me some of my swagger back, which is a really awesome feeling. It’s not like I even did that great on my diet this week -- I had beer and even a greek yogurt popsicle at one point. Last week’s success was more due to me not being an asshole: eating breakfast, finding ways to actually have productive days and working out until my belly screamed; that’s how I made it to today.
I’m not going to say I’m back on track, but goddamnit I’m back on track.
I used to be scared of home invasions or spiders the size of dogs. Now the thing that keeps me up at night is the fear that I’m going to wake up and not be able to feel my hip bones when I lay on my side anymore. By the way, that’s an awesome feeling.