I’m in a bit of a slowdown for weight loss, lately. That’s how my body is; I’ll lose for a bit, and then stay at one weight.

I used to find this incredibly frustrating. Who doesn’t like consistency, especially if you’re looking forward to reaching that end goal of having all your weight off?

These days, though, it doesn’t bother me as much. (Just a little, at times, but my brain is still adapting to a new lifestyle.) I’ve found that my body keeps changing even when there’s little sign of progress on the scales. There are a lot of reasons my body may decide not to give up weight, and I can’t possibly know every single thing — only that I should keep pressing forward, and eventually, I’ll be back in losing mode.

About halfway up the steps!

I had a great reminder of this just a few days ago. One of my dearest life-long friends and I both aspire to be writers, and we participate in NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month); it’s a month-long effort to write a 50,000 word novel. It’s held annually in November, so last November and this one, we had a write-in at a cabin in a nearby state park. It’s the absolute perfect setting for writing; quiet, secluded, on the water. Peaceful.

For me, though, it also holds quite the challenge: a long course of stairs that lead from parking down to the fishing cabins on the waterfront. Thankfully, they are half-steps, but there’s somewhere around eighty of them, and for someone with mobility issues, it’s quite the challenge. It’s also great incentive not to pack much, since all of it must be carried down by hand.

The first time I met my friend, there, was in August of last year, shortly after my daughter’s wedding. I’d lost 62 pounds. I had a heck of a time getting down those steps — and back up. It required several stops along the way to sit and rest. Worst of all, one of my knees locked up during my stay, which makes it sore afterward. It was quite a challenge for me, and my friend helped me carry my things; without her help, I wouldn’t have made it.

The second time was last November, a few months after the first trip. By that time, I’d lost 88 pounds, or thereabouts. Another 20+ pounds off made things a little easier, but I still needed lots of help. I walked with a cane. I was very careful of the antique bricks used for paving near the cabin, because they aren’t perfectly smooth and it would have been easy to hook a toe (or a cane tip) on the edge of an uneven brick, so I didn’t venture far from the cabin.

And this last time? I was 129 pounds down — and while I’m not exactly running up those long steps to the Rocky theme music, they’re not the ungodly challenge they were on the previous two trips. I made the trek down and up three times when I arrived, and carried all of my own gear; when leaving, I did it twice, and my friend carried something for me as a favor. (She’s awesome that way.)

It occurred to me on the way up, carrying a cooler, gear, laptop, and more, that my weight while carrying all that gear was probably equal to my weight without the gear the last time I visited. There’s no quicker reminder of how far you’ve come, weight-wise, than carrying stuff that makes you feel heavy, again! I carried probably thirty pounds of stuff up those steps, on one trip, and it certainly made the challenge to the top a bit more difficult.

I can’t begin to imagine trying to carry 129 pounds of stuff up to the top with me. No, I couldn’t have made it at all — not even just going down the steps, let alone up!

I’ve always maintained that these small increments add up. This was a stellar reminder of just how much difference there really is, because small changes aren’t always noticeable on a day to day basis. But in a year? Oh, yes, definitely! Who knows? Maybe I’ll be playing that Rocky theme music the next time.

Update: I’ve now lost a total of 128.2 pounds.

This past Tuesday, my dental hygienist tilted her head at me, her eyebrows drawn together as she looked me in the eye.

“You’re losing weight, aren’t you? I can really see it in your face!”

I thanked her. I didn’t mention that I’d been actively losing for three years and I had seen her just six months ago. A compliment is a compliment, and I’ll take them when they come.

And then… that inevitable question arrives.

“So how are you doing it?”

128 pound cannonball — because losing that weight means getting the lead out.

So… look. I get it. I’ve been the one to ask other people that question — until I became someone who was asked on a regular basis. These days, if I notice someone has lost weight, I compliment them, wish them continued success, and then I stop there.

To be very honest about it, I can just about name every other statement that comes afterward, too — from I bet you feel a lot better! To your family must be happy for you! To have you ever thought about taking that new supplement?

I understand that people feel obligated to say something in response, whether it’s one of these statements, their own confession that they need to lose weight themselves, or mention of a tv program on weight loss, a relative that lost a lot of weight, and the hope that I’m losing weight in a healthy way. I know that people are just trying to make conversation about a sometimes awkward subject.

I admit that the first time I lost a huge amount of weight, these questions really got under my skin. To me, back then, being asked if I just feel so much better infers that there was something wrong with me, to begin with. To tell me you look great meant that I must not have looked great, previously. In my mind, there had to be a contrast to whatever people were saying, which inferred that I was somehow not worthy or less human because I weighed more. It took me a very long time to understand that change doesn’t necessarily mean value judgment. 

I started convincing myself, once I passed into the realm of just overweight instead of morbidly obese, that I was somehow different than I had been when I started that journey. That I was somehow better, improved from what I’d been, before.

And that’s a dangerous way to think. Perhaps it was karma that assisted in loading all that weight right back on my hips… and then some, just for good measure.

I have a different perspective, now. I just nod, accept the compliment in the light in which it was given, and move on.

Am I proud to have lost 128.2 pounds? Well — sure, I am, but I am also very careful to not see myself as different. I’m human. I’m fallible. I’ve lost and regained so much weight that I should always know better than to think I’m beyond backsliding. While there are certainly mental changes I’ve gone through since that first day I committed to this plan over three years ago, I’m not only still that same person… I’m probably more me than I’ve been in many years.

The difference isn’t that I’ve lost weight; it’s that I am recognizing where my issues and faults have been, and weight loss is a byproduct of that recognition.

It’s the acceptance that all the times I’ve failed, before, have been for a reason, and that reason is because I’ve been wrong. I’ve failed without accepting failure. I haven’t learned from my mistakes. I haven’t loved myself enough to accept those things and change my own behavior. And that really is the truth of it.

So when people inevitably ask me how are you losing weight?, I tell them the simplest truth: I eat fewer carbs and calories, and I move more. It’s certainly an oversimplification, but the reality is that my battles are won in my brain, not on my dinner plate. The thing is, very few want to hear, in the course of a casual conversation, that this is an intensely personal and difficult journey that requires a commitment to constantly change and adjust. That there are no magic pills, no special combination of food and exercise that works for everyone, no easy potion that melts pounds off your hips.

No — it’s more a maze of constant choices that become easier as your commitment deepens. In that light, diet and exercise are only tools; only means to an end. It’s our brains that do the real work.

(I’ve now lost 127.8 pounds!)

The time is now.

Last weekend was a whirlwind of old things made new again, with new experiences peppering the rest. I admit I feared the many things we had planned for the weekend, even though I was the instigator for a few of them; I often have to fight a tendency to be a hermit, especially when I’m having bad arthritic days.

Last week was our county fair. I live in a small town with an equally small county fair. We haven’t visited the last couple of years, because frankly, I couldn’t get around that well and the fairground is just a field most of the year. Grass, dried up low spots where mud puddles once lived, soft ground in the stables, weathered and uneven concrete landings and walkways — it’s treachery for those of us with mobility issues, and I live in fear of falling.

I’ve lost… myself! This is me, around age 18 or so. I was around a third of my starting weight for this journey; I was also about a third of my current age.

But… I wanted two things: a caramel apple with nuts on it, and a carnival ride. I haven’t had either one in years, and while caramel apples aren’t exactly a diet item, I occasionally plan on enjoying things like this. Sure, I could make my own, but I didn’t want to! It’s not like I needed supplies to make a dozen, after all. The carnival ride was a bonus, because I’d feared being turned away because of my size, or not being able to be securely belted on the ride.

I knocked out both of those Friday night. I’m a ride demon once again, even if it was just one ride; that’s all I needed to remember the joy of paying money to be spun so dizzy I can’t see straight for a few moments. (Seriously, aren’t we just a bit crazy for doing that?) I bought my caramel apple and carefully transported it home to enjoy later in the weekend since I don’t deviate from my plan during the week.

Saturday, we had plans to attend a house concert in the afternoon — something neither my husband or I had done previously. At the last minute, though, both of us ended up serving as KCBS judges on Saturday, before the concert. If you’re unfamiliar with KCBS, it’s the Kansas City Barbeque Society  and they sanction barbeque competitions across the country. Without getting into too much detail, it meant I’d be sitting in with certified judges and judging barbeque chicken, ribs, pork, and brisket. In all, twenty-five samples crossed in front of me, and I had to have at least a bite of each one. They were judged on appearance, taste, and tenderness.

I admit that I did this somewhat begrudgingly. For someone who’s been on a three-year journey to losing weight, being asked to judge a food competition is — well — just a bit ludicrous! I’m used to knowing exactly what I’m putting in my mouth, but there was no way to know; it was a double-blind competition. It’s not as if I could review a list of ingredients for each sample while the other five judges at my table waited on me. I couldn’t simply discard something because it had honey in it, for instance.

But sometimes — you have to choose to live in the moment and take it for what it is. I did that. I had a bite of everything put in front of me. For the most part, the entries were tasty; there were a few exceptions, but there always are. A master judge that sat beside me and led me through the process even commented that my method of eating likely gives me an advantage as a volunteer judge, because I eat mindfully. (The table did have a good laugh, though, at having someone at the table who’s been on a diet for three years and judging barbeque.)

I don’t know who won or if I tasted their entry, because we just don’t know that information; it was a room of nearly thirty judges, and it was carefully engineered so we would never taste entries from the same contestant twice. In all, I’m glad I got roped into it, even though I initially resisted; it was an interesting experience. My only regret: twenty-five bites of meat is still a lot of meat, and some, I did have more than one bite; either because they were good and I wanted to taste it again, or because they had several cuts of meat in one entry. Between that, crackers to cleanse the taste of the meat, and plenty of water, I didn’t feel all that great later in the day.

The house concert was marvelous, followed by even more activities on Sunday. I woke up Sunday morning, silently dreading stepping on the scale; believe me when I say that even one bite of those meats ends up being A LOT of food — and a lot of whatever they used to prepare it. Amazingly, the number on the scale wasn’t bad at all. Sometimes my body is more forgiving of deviances from the norm; a couple weeks ago, I could have eaten a lettuce leaf and gained weight. This past weekend was the opposite.

This was a learning experience for me. Sometimes I need to just let go of what I fear, and do something for the heck of it. Occasionally, doing a manual override of all the “buts!” that line up when considering something different is the best thing I can do. I don’t ignore warning flags; no, I’m speaking of the voices that remind me of things that don’t really matter in the long run. People are silently judging me because I’m fat and I’m judging a food contest. I don’t know what I might eat that might trigger my appetite. Is this going to make me late to the event we planned afterward? As it turned out, I didn’t need to worry about any of those things.

Choosing to live in the moment also means discarding history that works against me at times like this. We couldn’t find a decent (or free) parking space at the fair, and I almost opted to go on home — but I know I would have missed out on that ride (and the apple!). I could have chosen not to do the judging, and found something to do for a few hours while my husband participated, but it was a fascinating process and the only dietary fallout I had was late that night when the meat sat heavy on my stomach.

I also could have said no to the last opportunity to swim outside on Sunday, but I would have missed spending time with great friends, enjoying the last warm day of the season, and I probably would have escaped the sunburn on the back of my neck. (I should have remembered the sunscreen. Oops!) How often do we get to swim in late September?

Life is a series of choices. Always choosing the easiest option is pretty boring. Sometimes, you have to take that chance and see where it leads you — and then move on to the next.

This week’s update: 125.2 pounds down, and 14.8 pounds to reach my next big goal!

If you’ve read my blog for any length of time, you know that for the last year or so, I’ve included a link to a song that somehow jives with what I write for that week. This week is no different, except I’m going to quote the chorus here:

So when you’re swinging for the bleachers, don’t think about first base
Don’t even set the sail if you don’t plan to win the race
‘Cause no sailor worth his salt ever stopped to count the cost
So when you go after Jaws — bring along the tartar sauce!

Sure, the song Fortune Favors the Fools is fun and catchy, but it’s also full of optimism, and it’s one of the reasons I like it.

125 Pound Blue Tip Shark — where’s the tartar sauce?

But it’s also counter to how I’ve thought about losing weight, at least for the past three years. After all, when you have a lot of weight to lose, one of the biggest de-motivators is thinking about the entire amount you need to lose. I’m a 5 foot 2 inch tall female; according to an online ideal weight calculator I just used, I should weigh between 101 and 137 pounds. The median range is 110 to 121 pounds.

So, now that I’m done laughing myself into hysterics — even if I were to pick the top number in the range, I’m still over 100 pounds above it. If I were starting my journey today, at my current weight, coming to terms with facing a 100 pound loss would make me feel as if I failed before I started. Holy crap, that’s a lot of weight to lose!

Mind you, I didn’t start at my current weight. I started 125 pounds ago. I knew I was fat. (And I still am.) I knew the number I was facing was daunting, and the chances were set against me. I knew that if I dwelt on the idea of needing to lose not 100, not 125, but more like 234 pounds, I’d never make it past the first day. Because holy crap! Forget swinging for the bleachers; had I thought of losing that much weight, I would have given up and just sat on the bleachers instead of playing the game.

But three years in, and 125 pounds lost? I’ve already lost more than I have left to lose. I’m past that halfway mark. I already know without a doubt that I’m capable of doing this. I’m not sitting on the bleachers, or even warming the benches. I’m in the game, and I can hit a grand slam out of the ballpark. I’ve already proved that. And I’m going to keep right on proving that.

Realistically, I’m not aiming for 137. I don’t know what my final number will be, but it’s quite likely to be above that. When I get there, I’ll know, but for now, my goals are to lose 60 to 70 more pounds, and then evaluate.

As I enter this next phase of weight loss, I realize that the lay of the land is far different than it was three years ago. I have different challenges ahead of me. There are surprises I must adapt to at every turn. But one thing has seeped into my mindset, and it’s here to stay: as I pass each of these progress markers, I do so with the intent of winning the game, whether it’s by sacrifice bunts or swinging for the fences.

My third anniversary since starting my journey is tomorrow. I am, as of today, 124.6 pounds down; and what a journey it’s been.

My first post on this journey was First Day of the Last Diet Ever , which I just re-read. In that post, I talked about my plans and my hopes, after having dieted successfully in the past but not keeping the weight off. I haven’t looked back on that initial post in quite some time.

123 pound hamburger — I’ll take one with a Diet Coke to go, please.

Sometimes, you have to climb that mountain — and pause to look down behind you. It’s not always easy; admitting my weight, my size, my defeat in past efforts to the world was one of the bravest things I’ve done, and I have no regrets in doing it. Because, from this vantage point, there are things I see clearly that I only hoped for, back then.

For one thing, my goal that I’m claiming, today, means that one-third of me is gone. Not a third of my weight lost; a third of my original weight! I always try to post a photo of something that’s the same weight of something I’ve lost, and for quite some time, now, I’ve been able to post photos of people. Grown-ups. Both men and women, no less! I’ve come a long way from posting pics of fish, dogs, and bowling balls. Today, I could have claimed I’ve lost Taylor Swift — but the huge 123-pound hamburger seemed a lot more entertaining. (Sometimes it’s a real challenge to find something that weighs exactly what I’ve lost.)

I’ve mentioned many times that I lost 140 pounds a number of years back; it took about a year and a half, and then I went into a stall that lasted about another year and a half. Well, then — look at me, three years in, going strong. Yes, it’s taking a lot longer than back then, for a lot of reasons, but I’m learning to be thankful for that; I have learned so incredibly much over the course of the past three years. My next goal is to beat that 140.5-pound loss; only 16 pounds to go, and I know without a doubt I can break that goal, too.

Not only that, but I’m still following that basic plan I set forth, that first day, and it’s still working. My methods may fluctuate as time passes, but the goal and basic methods of my journey stay the same.

A child born on the day I started this last-ever diet would now be in preschool, hopefully potty trained, maybe learning letters and numbers, full of possibilities. I wouldn’t call myself a patient or determined person, but I’m learning that I’m both. Age and wisdom have taught me things I refused or couldn’t learn on previous attempts, and with each passing day, I can visualize the future; both over the weeks and months to come and down the road.

How amazing it is to me to remember that woman, three years ago, who struggled in nearly everything, who was a prisoner of her own environment and her own making. Then, I could barely take a step and a breath without fighting for it; today, my world has grown by leaps and bounds. When I look back at my photos, I see the pain in the early ones; I just didn’t have very much to smile about. These days, I smile a lot. I’ve even allowed myself to be just a little bit proud of what I’ve done — but not too much, because there’s still work to be done.

Some would call this a birthday instead of an anniversary, and perhaps it is. Perhaps I’ve finally given myself the single most important gift I can give — the ability to not just extend my life — but actually live it.