Doing it, ten percent at a time
Monday morning. This morning, the day after my visit to Hometown Buffet with my parents for Thanksgiving, I received the shock of my life. When I stepped on the scale, I saw "212" pop up on the display. I checked again and saw the same thing. Wow. This means I've reached the goal for two Ten Percent Challenges in just 24 weeks which is, to my way of thinking, not an entirely unimpressive feat. In those same 24 weeks, I've lost 44 pounds, averaging about 1.8 pounds a week - right in line with the recommendations from nutritionists. Not too shabby, I must say.
In an even more startling sign that something I'm doing must be going well, my mother actually noticed that I'd lost weight yesterday. Now, I don't think I've written about my mother and my weight before, and I probably shouldn't now, either. It's not a pretty thing, to be honest. My mother is a wonderful person, really. I love her, she loves me, blah blah blah. However, she is a big part of my weight problems. I cannot count how many times she told me "you'd be so pretty if you just lost weight" (including while I was in high school, a size 8, and 120 pounds) or tried to beg/cajole/guilt me into losing weight once I'd gained a ton of it (my usual response was "gosh, Mom, you're right, I should lose weight, shouldn't I? Why hadn't I thought of that???"), so my weight is a very loaded subject with us. For the most part, she stays out of it, a tactic that I wish she'd employed yesterday because she made one comment that has been playing over and over in my head ever since. We were talking about how ill-fitting and baggy my trousers were and I told her that I was uncertain whether I would get them tailored or just give them away, as I'd been giving away bags of stuff for weeks now. She said, "that's what you did last time (you lost weight) and then you had nothing left to wear when you gained it all back." Yes, she really said that, bringing up the fact that I'd done all of this great stuff before and, ultimately, failed. I love my mother. Love, love, love, love, LOVE.
In an even more startling sign that something I'm doing must be going well, my mother actually noticed that I'd lost weight yesterday. Now, I don't think I've written about my mother and my weight before, and I probably shouldn't now, either. It's not a pretty thing, to be honest. My mother is a wonderful person, really. I love her, she loves me, blah blah blah. However, she is a big part of my weight problems. I cannot count how many times she told me "you'd be so pretty if you just lost weight" (including while I was in high school, a size 8, and 120 pounds) or tried to beg/cajole/guilt me into losing weight once I'd gained a ton of it (my usual response was "gosh, Mom, you're right, I should lose weight, shouldn't I? Why hadn't I thought of that???"), so my weight is a very loaded subject with us. For the most part, she stays out of it, a tactic that I wish she'd employed yesterday because she made one comment that has been playing over and over in my head ever since. We were talking about how ill-fitting and baggy my trousers were and I told her that I was uncertain whether I would get them tailored or just give them away, as I'd been giving away bags of stuff for weeks now. She said, "that's what you did last time (you lost weight) and then you had nothing left to wear when you gained it all back." Yes, she really said that, bringing up the fact that I'd done all of this great stuff before and, ultimately, failed. I love my mother. Love, love, love, love, LOVE.
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