Weight loss plateaus suck. I know, because for the last three months, that’s been my world.
I’m still chipping away at it. I know that sooner or later, I’ll reach the end of this plateau, and the good news here is that even if I were to stay at this weight forever, I am better off now than I have been. My life is much improved over what it was, even a few short months ago.
The number doesn’t surprise me; I just wish it would move!
Years ago, I lost 140 pounds — and then hit a two-year plateau. Two years. That’s a long time, my friends! Any time I reach a plateau or stall, I think about (and dread) returning to something similar, especially since that one ended badly. I regained every ounce of the weight I lost, plus some on top of it. I lost every bit of my mojo.
Looking back on it, now, I realize I was doing some things wrong, and that my body was fighting against me. That particular situation is nothing new; keeping my body in check is a constant battle, but I sat for far too long, doing the same things over and over and expecting change. I finally got frustrated and let myself slip into old habits. It was further complicated by physical injury which curtailed exercise.
I’m wary about finding myself in the same situation. I’ve accepted, recently, that I’m not doing everything I could be doing to further my goals, so I’m working harder toward those ends. There’s light at the end of the tunnel, but there’s also the need for change instead of just expecting the same things to work.
It’s always difficult to know when to change something, whether it’s the right change, whether it’s enough, but if it changes the results I’m getting, it’s worth it. I have to step out on faith and hope that the changes I institute will be the right ones. I’m determined to reach 120 pounds down; that’s 1.8 pounds below my low weight. Not much to ask of my body. I am pushing through, proving to myself that I can make that scale do my bidding.
The difference between this stall and my two year one is that my head is more in the right place, these days; I’m not about to step off my plan and allow big weight gains. I always say that I never want to return to that place, again, and that’s true; but I need to actually make that happen.
One of my lessons in learning on how to fit my brain into this changing body is learning to adapt to normalcy. I have lived for many years, being that person, the one who tries to fade into the background because she’s the largest person in the room, the most common identifier being that fat woman over in the corner.
If Rosie the Riveter could do it… so can we.
So when we were invited to a friend’s house this week to swim, I was ambivalent about it, at best. There are women of entirely average size that dread being seen in a bathing suit; quadruple that level of angst for me. I’m still a large woman — and with it, I carry the visible scars of my weight loss. I have batwings worthy of a 90-year-old woman. I have large amounts of loose, wrinkled skin in the areas where my weight loss has been the greatest. I am always conscious of this, even when not wearing a bathing suit.
I had a choice, though. I often swim at another friend’s house, because the people I’m with, there, have known me for many, many years — when I was at my fattest. When I was at my thinnest. And they accept me at all of the weights in between, which is one of the biggest gifts a friend can give someone who’s ever conscious of their physical being and limitations.
It’s an act of faith that other newer friends will be the same. I should have had no doubts; I went, had a great time, and never felt as if I were a science project. I’m blessed to know so many people who don’t stop at the surface and, instead, value people for the core of them, rather than their looks. As my mother likes to say, beauty is skin deep; ugly goes straight through to the bone.
That doesn’t erase the fear of judgment, though. I have been the object of nasty comments from strangers — and from people who have been close to me. I have dealt with judgment regarding my weight, no matter how well-meaning. I have been dismissed as something less than human, someone not worthy of customer service, someone apparently worthy of ridicule. There are still many people who firmly believe just the act of being overweight is a character flaw.
While I have fairly thick skin, these days, and someone’s opinion of me only matters if I respect them, there’s still a residue of fear in new situations. There’s still the awkwardness of dealing with someone who may automatically dismiss all that I am because of my physical characteristics.
Learning to live a normal life doesn’t mean I’ll live without these fears; I think most people — most women, at least — are concerned that they somehow don’t measure up to an imaginary (and likely unattainable) ideal. There are many who won’t wear shorts or sleeveless shirts in scorching hot weather (like we have right now!) because they are conscious of their imperfections.
The truth is that we all have imperfections; they are part of what makes us who we are, and in that light, they are not imperfections. They are traits that make us unique in some way, and just because we are different from some imagined norm should not be seen as a bad thing.
I am who I am; I would not choose for my heart and mind to be different, simply because of the container they exist in. For me, living normally means accepting myself for where I am at this moment, with whatever perceived flaws I may have, and not letting those fears govern my actions.
I’ve found the motivation to get my head back in the game.
I never completely lost my mojo, but I did put things on hold for a bit. Now, I’m working towards getting back on track for losing weight.
There are times when I have to fake it until I make it; I believe I started this whole journey exactly that way, nearly three years ago. And then there are times where I become my own motivation, and that’s what’s been happening the last few weeks.
Somewhere along the road
For one thing, I passed a one-year mark on logging into MyFitnessPal. I may not have consistently recorded all my data on a daily basis, but just the act of logging in kept my long term goals on my mind. If I had skipped a day, I would have had to start the count over, but even through 18 total nights of camping, I made sure I logged in.
For another, those of you who support me have reminded me of what I’ve accomplished — and that’s one of the biggest reasons I’ve invited you along for the ride. That reinforcement reminds me that I’ve fought a good fight, but still have a long way to go, especially when there are cameras about and I see photos of myself afterward. I still struggle with this, but I think, right now, my brain’s perception of me more closely matches my true physical being.
Thanks for being there — especially those of you that I was unaware were even following my journey. While I don’t openly talk about my weight loss journey unless someone asks, it’s always refreshing when someone asks. Many of you did this last week, and it reminded me of the many reasons I’m on this journey.
I have to remind myself that this isn’t a race, and that determination and effort are cumulative; every small step forward is worth the effort, even if it doesn’t seem important at the time. Like the character Andy Dufresne in Stephen King’s Shawshank Redemption, chipping away at my goal will eventually get me to where I want to be — free. (The character spent 19 years using a small rock hammer to create an escape tunnel from prison.)
I’ll keep taking those small steps. Even now, it seems impossible that I’ve come this far, but it’s proof that everything I do toward my goal counts. The longest journey starts with but one step.
Oh, the brain work I’ve been doing! Not that everything on my mind will be solved in short order, but being conscious of my body and my mental thoughts helps a lot.
I’m not sure if everyone’s brain works this way, but I tend to forget easily. I find myself not liking what my body is doing RIGHT NOW and forget how far I’ve come. This morning was a reminder; we’re currently camping, and I showered at the camp bathhouse. I used the handicap stall because, in the past, I’ve needed to sit down. Standing and walking, especially on hard surfaces, is painful. I didn’t need that, today — I had no need to sit. And that’s a very good thing.
We’re doing a lot of camping this summer, and every time out is just a tad easier. Even though I haven’t lost weight, things are changing for me, and I find I’m in more control of my world. I’m also changing how I’m eating when we’re on the road, because every camping trip meant an uncomfortable weight gain, usually from water weight. I am a salt *fiend* and it’s meant giving up my salty snacks, but water retention means I’m miserable, and who wants to spend vacation time that way? Not me.
I’m also more comfortable. I’m sitting outside right now, in front of a fan; it’s currently 88 degrees with a heat index of 98, but I’m dry and comfortable. Taking off a great deal of weight has helped my body temperature in extreme temperature ranges. Being outside and enjoying the view is far better than sitting inside in the air conditioning; I’m a child of the outdoors, and (almost) always prefer outside to in. (I detest cold and won’t stay outside in the cold, if I can help it.)
From the banks of the Arkansas River — to you!
We used to tent camp, but bought a (gently) used pop-up camper about four months ago. Just getting into it would have been nearly impossible for me, before; if you haven’t been in one, they’re pretty tight on space. I can get around fine in ours, but at 371 pounds, that wouldn’t have happened, especially getting my posterior up onto an elevated bed, or on the bench seats in the dinette, or just fitting through the narrow galley.
It actually amuses me when my friends turn their noses up at camping; I honestly enjoy it, even if it can be a hassle at times. I’m not capable of doing everything in a campsite, just yet; not this year, but maybe by next year, I’ll be able to do just about everything. (I’m sure my husband will be amused to read this.) And by that, I mean actually towing the camper, leveling it, erecting it, pulling out the beds, raising the door — I help at those things, but I’m not to a point where I can do everything, yet.
I need to keep testing myself, pushing myself, challenging myself — it’s the only way my brain will accept my body at its current size and condition, so I’m able to move on and achieve even greater things.
The highest point in Arkansas is Mount Magazine; it’s a flat-topped plateau with rock cliffs, and driving on top of it provides quite a scenic view of the surrounding area. There’s a lot to see and experience, as long as you’re willing to stop and take in the view and surroundings.
Take in the view — and then move on.
Inadvertently, I’ve found myself at a scenic overlook in my weight loss. I didn’t intentionally mean to stop losing weight, but that’s where I’ve been for the last couple of months. I have faith that I’ll continue the journey. But I’ve also come to the realization that I haven’t wanted to move on from this place, just yet.
I’m no stranger to weight loss and the hard work required to continue it. I knew a point would come where I would need to change directions; I reached that point, and didn’t change. I’m well aware that for the next stage of my loss, I need to bear down and work through it. I will do that — but I’ve also come to realize that there are good reasons to be where I am, at this moment.
My brain hasn’t totally caught up with my body; not its size or current capabilities. Just last week, I packed bathing suits for a trip that turned out to be too large; embarrassingly too large, to the point where there was no way I could wear them without getting arrested. I still find myself wearing clothes that are too large, and clinging to things I should release.
I’ve nearly stopped myself from doing things which I’m capable of doing. It’s been nice to discover that this body can do things, now, that it hasn’t been able to do in years — but it’s been just a tad scary, as well. I have to overcome that level of discomfort.
In short, there are things I need to learn, and realizations I need to accept. Mental hurdles to overcome. So while it might appear I’ve been standing at a rest stop, I believe now that I’ve been staying here for a reason. I’ve been at this place, before, not knowing what laid on the path ahead of me, and not prepared for it. This time, I will be prepared for the changes ahead, because I know them.
In the past year, I’ve lost (another) 60 pounds, and the changes that came with it far exceed any changes I experienced during the first 58. As I move on from this mental place, those changes will accelerate even more. It’ll be time, soon, to step forward and continue on that path and come down off the overlook.
Twice in just the last week, I’ve stepped out and accomplished things I couldn’t have done just year ago.
Mind you, I’m a slow loser. This time last year, I was about 60 pounds heavier than I am, now. We were headed to Cozumel for vacation. Because of the condition of my knees, my walking was quite limited, and we traveled with a folding wheelchair so we could still get out and do what we wanted.
I don’t walk quite like this, but would if I could!
I was already just under 60 pounds into my weight loss, then, but most of my physical improvements have been since then. I could walk short distances, but the last thing I wanted to do in a foreign country is to push myself to the point of pain. Not on vacation.
Shortly after that, my daughter got married. After her wedding, we went to pubs in the downtown area; my husband pushed me, once again, in the portable wheelchair.
This past Wednesday, I had a meeting to attend in one of the restaurants we visited during that after wedding celebration, and we parked behind the hotel we stayed at last year. After the meeting, my husband and I walked from the restaurant to the parking area. While at first I wasn’t sure, at all, about walking that distance (mind you, it’s less than a quarter of a mile), I did it. I did it fairly easily, too.
I’m pretty sure these days, if I took my time, I could do that same pub crawl without assistance; I’ve gone from using a wheelchair to a cane to walking without a cane or brace in a year. And last weekend, we met friends for a downtown dinner and then to a minor league ballpark — another unknown that resulted in more walking than I expected, and I did just fine.
I’m truly surprising myself, finding I can do more things that I originally think I’m capable of doing. I am quite literally taking small steps, but they are important ones. I can’t wait to see where my abilities take me, next.
I’m still keeping up the good fight, hoping to conquer 118 so I can amuse you with a new profile pic and a new “I’ve lost this much” pic. Stay tuned! It’ll happen!
In the meantime, I’ve been doing a fair amount of thinking about how my body has changed over the years. This came up while cleaning; I’ve been in the process of going through a lot of old boxes and papers, including old photos. Many stages of my life, I recall clearly. Some, I’d rather forget.
A World of Difference between Then and Now
I’ve found a number of photos that surprise me. It’s not because of my weight at the time; it’s more about the reflection of a mindset, reminders of times when I know, for a fact, I was horribly depressed and unhappy with my life. I came across such a photo several weeks back; by my best calculations, I was just about to turn 36. I am now 54, so there’s been quite a bit of ground covered between that time and now.
Weight-wise, I was probably heavier at almost-36 than I am, now. What I noticed wasn’t weight related; it was how one photo of me captured how unhappy I was, how out of tune within myself. Over the course of my life, I’ve dealt with stretches of depression, and this was one of them.
I didn’t like myself very much, and in those dark days, I tried to be everything to everyone else without bothering to make sure I was being true to me. Forgetting who you are is a dangerous mindset. Ignoring your inner nature eats at you until there’s nothing left but a shell. Drifting through the world, barely functioning, far too afraid to make changes — it’s a bad place to live, and I am glad I am no longer there.
Those who have known me all this time might say I was a nicer person, back then. Soft spoken, the kind of person who didn’t stand her ground or make waves. I admit that these days, I can be brazen and at times obnoxious. I’m less inclined to just go along with the flow. I’m more opinionated, I stand my ground, I take chances, I say no a lot.
I still struggle with mental demons, but I am more me than I have been in a very long time.
But I don’t have that dissonance, that sense that I’m not good enough unless I become what other people expect. I am who I am; take me or leave me. I am made better by my experiences and the absolute true friends who are part of my life, and these days, even my worst photo shows that internal fortitude. I am a fighter, once again.
Being at peace with who you are can make more difference than 18 years and all the weight in the world. Letting your true colors shine strengthens you from the inside out.
[No new weight loss this week; I’m in the midst of a small stall and am changing some things up in hopes of progress. No matter; I carry onward.]
I’m excited waiting for the warm weather. Just about anyone who knows me also knows that I’m a child of the sun and water. As Spring melts into Summer, I typically find myself outside as much as possible; the more sunshine, the better.
I might still be fluffy, but my wings are growing in.
This year is somewhat different. I’ll still be spending as much time outdoors, but I’m excited in ways I haven’t been in years. Losing weight means that I’m able to do more, participate more, enjoy myself more. Sure, I’ve got my eyes set on my (smaller!) summer clothing, but that’s not all.
I find myself moving more on a daily basis, doing things I’ve been afraid to do, both physically and mentally. For the past week or so, I’ve been changing up one of our extra bedrooms and making some improvements to another. Although I’m at risk of getting scolded by my husband for admitting this, I was up on a step ladder yesterday, replacing a broken set of blinds. (Don’t worry — I was extremely careful, and I had my phone with me in case of trouble. I might be a risk taker, but I’m not foolish.)
The day before yesterday, I moved a heavy printer table out of the bedroom I’ve been working on; I have plans for that room, and it was a choice of moving on to something else and waiting for assistance, or taking it on myself. We have a two wheel handcart; I gave it a shot, and got that thing out of the house. Later, my husband and I moved an old desk out of there. (It was mostly him — I’m not crazy, people!) We moved an old loveseat in there, and I’ve been moving and lifting and sorting all day long.
I’ve made several trips to the local Walmart; I usually avoid going there because even our small Walmart means more walking than my knees have historically been able to handle. For several years, now, I’ve used the much smaller local grocer, because it’s easier for me to get around in there. But over the last couple of days, I’ve been into Walmart a couple times — with absolutely no issues. (I know hanging out in Walmart is a dubious achievement, but I take this victories where I can get them!)
I also haven’t been in a dressing room in several years. I detest trying on clothes. I usually just take my chances, buy (or order) something, and return it if it doesn’t fit. Today, I went into a dressing room. What I tried on actually fit, too; I know I’m not alone when I say that one of the most defeating feelings a woman deals with is trying on something that ends up being too small. Believe me, I’m in no hurry to go into a dressing room again, but it’s just one more thing that was a nice little non-scale victory.
I’m getting more comfortable in my own skin, too. I’m still sensitive to the fact that I’m a large woman, but I had a reaction just today that surprised me. I was in Walmart (yeah, yeah, yeah), wearing shorts and a shirt, and a strange woman looked me up and down like she was disgusted, staring at my bare legs. (Mind you, I think she was just a cranky sort of person, after listening to how she addressed a salesperson.) I’ve had a tendency to cower at such attention in the past. My first response, this time, was the overwhelming desire to confront her and ask her just what the hell she was looking at. (Don’t worry. I didn’t, but I came close.)
I’ve been living in maxi dresses; my husband and I went out to eat recently and I wore a new skort — it falls just above my knees. I don’t have good looking knees, regardless of weight, so I tend to cover them up. But I felt good in that silly skort; I was comfortable. Why should I change how I dress to make random strangers happy?
My skin no longer fits my body. That’s a fact of life I am doing my best to accept, but as Summer draws near, I’m going to be out and enjoying myself — swimming, doing what walking I can, camping, and whatever else comes up. It’s nice to be out and among the living; I spent far too long, sequestering myself because I either felt bad about myself or couldn’t handle getting out without some sort of assistance.
These are among the gifts I’ve given myself, and for as long as it takes to continue my losses, I’ll keep fighting. Time to leave that nest and fly!
Not the number on the scale, the number on the measuring tape, the size number in the back of the garment. Not even the number of calories, the number of carbs, the number of glasses of water.
Probably because I’m out of tune, but let’s not split hairs, Chuck.
It’s easy for me to get lost in the numbers, at times. That’s especially true when I’m close to a goal, as I am, now, and I’m ultra focused on getting down to that next number. My brain will start behaving as if nothing else matters than that number.
Sometimes, you can get so wound up in the little goals that the big ones sneak up on you, and I met a big goal this past Saturday; a personal goal that I set some time ago. Last Saturday, after 32 years, I performed in my first concert.
And what a day it was! I could have easily become overwhelmed in the emotion of it, and nearly did toward the end of the performance. Much of my life is connected to music, and even though I haven’t considered myself a real musician in decades, my deep love of music is as important to me as the air that fills my lungs. I had not realized how much I missed it until a couple years ago, when a dear friend sent me a gift that made becoming a musician, again, possible.
I joined a community orchestra a few months ago, and had to overcome my initial fear of walking into unknown situations where I know no one and have no true safety net, but everything worked out. While I’ve never played with an orchestra before, joining in the joy of making music with others sparked that old passion within me, and it fills a spot that nothing else can.
Facing and embracing that part of myself, rusted and squeaky with disuse as it was, was an emotional task. Often frustrated but determined, I sat down with my instrument on a nearly daily basis and pushed a little harder and a little further every day. Instead of just playing for myself, I had a goal in sight; a daunting one, for me at least.
So when I sat down at my performance on Saturday, slightly nervous to see the people gathering in that church hall, I carried a lot of things with me, there. None of my fellow musicians knew what baggage I carried with me; the fear of overcoming 32 years of musical silence, the fear of doing something I love — badly, the fear that no one would witness the event, the fear that everyone would witness it.
Playing that day was the fulfillment of a promise I made to the woman who sent me the instrument who made it possible. It was also the promise and the bond made as a child, the first time my oldest brother sat down with me to teach me to play the french horn, and then decades later, happily sparking that common bond as I picked it up and learned all over again. I hope I made him proud, and I wish he had lived to have known. It was a promise I talked about wistfully, with a dear friend, for years before it happened — not imagining it ever would.
But most of all, I fulfilled a promise to myself.
This is not so much about music as it is the strengthening and validation of my own sense of self. I set out to do this, thinking it couldn’t be done, and I might have to tuck my tail between my legs and come on home, defeated. I’m certainly no virtuoso; just a middle-aged woman, making music again. I’ve stumbled and doubted myself along the way, but perfection isn’t necessarily the goal; feeding my soul, however, has been worth every misstep.
Inevitably, this journey is one of self-discovery, of finding strength, of living life. Of being able to stand tall and say this is me, and know it rings true in every way. Every time I find just a little more of that strong girl within me, I take one step closer to being strong enough to make the end goal worth the fight.
No, it’s not about the numbers. I’m not just the old me in a thinner version. It’s about evolving, breaking free, and learning to live. If I can do that, I can keep the ultimate promise to myself.
The purpose of this blog is to help me keep my head straight while I lose weight; it’s my form of accountability, and I believe it has helped me. While I don’t have a loss to report this week, I’d like to revisit some old topics; both for those that might seek some helpful tips, and to remind myself about methods that work. (These tips may not work for everyone; your mileage may vary.)
Accountability. While it’s sometimes very uncomfortable to be public about my journey, knowing I have people who expect me to give them updates helps. There are times when, frankly, I don’t want to talk about weight loss, or I don’t really feel like owning up to a misstep or a sour mood, but not everything about this journey is perfect.
Yeah, I don’t eat those, except in my imagination.
Those are the times I need to be the most transparent because they’re the weak times. When I get frustrated or I don’t feel well, I’m more likely to think “screw all of this!” and drop off a diet. I’ve done it so many times in the past that I know the thought process. Knowing that people will ask me how I’m doing, or expect an update, gives me one more reason to keep up the good fight when I’m not at my strongest or best.
I can’t say it enough — thanks for being there for me. I appreciate the fact that you exist, and that you take the time to read my words. You help me, every single day.
Planning. “Failing to plan is planning to fail” — it’s absolutely true. All of us get caught off guard by circumstances beyond our control and have to make the best of it. If caught in a bind, it’s far too easy to shrug it off and eat whatever’s available, even if it’s not on plan. The best solution is to always have something with you that can tide you over until you can make better choices.
I’m guilty of this. I had an awards luncheon to attend, last week, but had no way to find out what was on the menu. Instead of carrying something with me to snack on until I could have more healthy choices, I just rolled the dice. Luckily, the menu included good options, but I should not have put myself in that situation.
If I’m dining at an unfamiliar place, I’ll research it (if that’s possible). If websites don’t have restaurant menus on them, often services like Facebook do. I like knowing what I’m facing in advance; it keeps me in control of the situation. Smartphones are great for dieters! Even if I’m trying to decide on the fly, I still have that available.
Failing that, I use a service called My Fitness Pal. It has an app available, and many foods from chain restaurants are listed. If I’m not sure about something on the menu, I can look it up there.
Tracking. Another mention of My Fitness Pal; I use it to track my meals and physical activity. To be honest, I’m not absolutely crazy about all of its functions; I want the ability to track more information, but I don’t feel their paid service merits the cost. (Otherwise, it’s free.)
(One caveat that I find irritating about MFP: exercise calories are added to daily allotments, insinuating that it’s okay to eat more. I don’t think this is a good idea because I’m not convinced their exercise calorie burn amounts are entirely accurate. Why take the chance?)
If I stray, it’s usually because I decide I’m not going to track something. It’s part of my accountability to myself; in order to be successful, I really do need to know what I’m eating. Guessing doesn’t cut it. Measuring food servings, and being honest about those serving sizes, is a must.
Previously, I’ve tried to get by without weighing myself, because I know I take an emotional hit when the scale isn’t cooperating. While I found some limited success in only using clothing sizes as an indicator of weight loss, it didn’t work for me. However, using several methods helps me mentally; when scale weight doesn’t indicate progress, physical measurements and clothing fit often do. I’ve learned to never rely on just one method for gauging success.
Self-Respect. This is a tough one; if someone compliments me about anything, including weight loss, I tend to try to counter it somehow. I have been making an effort to shut up and say “thank you” instead of answering “but I’ve got a long way to go”.
This also includes how I care for myself. I’ve been making the effort to wear clothes that fit, rather than baggy ones, and getting the too-big clothes out of the house. I don’t want to hedge my bets and keep bigger clothes around, just in case I fall off my diet. No! I should be proud of my accomplishments, and I should present myself in the best light, and that means feeling good enough about myself to get rid of the things I shouldn’t be wearing anymore.
Internally, self-respect also means not punishing myself. I’m admittedly really hard on myself, and that can cause problems. I don’t necessarily pamper myself; a little of that is fine, but not all the time. I also take the occasional few days where I relax my diet. Mind you, when I say “relax”, I don’t mean “blowout”; this might mean eating rice and beans with a Mexican dinner, not eating the largest dessert on the menu. I also do this with the full understanding that there’s a price to pay, and I have to accept that before I take a bite.
I also make sure that when I do choose to eat something off-plan, it’s actually good food. Nothing irritates me more than to spend my carbs and calories on bad food; my diet is pretty bland most of the time, so I want to fully enjoy and appreciate off-plan meals.
Self-Acceptance. This is one of the hardest things for me to do. I have lived for so long with a body that I despise that actually seeing photos of myself makes me cringe. I’m critical, no matter what. If a photo is taken at a bad angle, I’m more likely to beat myself up and tell myself I haven’t made the progress I think I have, than simply understand that everyone has the occasional bad photo.
My idea of what I look like often doesn’t match that of others. At this moment, my mental picture matches the physical one, but that’s not always the case. No matter what, I have to accept that this is a body in transition, but still me. This is also a slow process that requires I evaluate on a day-to-day basis, and it’s often easy to get lost in thinking too far down the road. I have to consciously remain in this moment, not dwell on what will happen as I continue to lose.
If you have other thoughts and tips, please share them! (Look for me on My Fitness Pal as LFTS.)