Weekly weigh-in: 225.6
Loss: -3.1 lbs
Total loss: 65.9 lbs.
I'll admit it: I'm scared of doing too well on this weight loss adventure.
I know, I know... there's lots of better, more interesting things to be frightened of, like spiders, darkness, garlic, choking, crowds, bowling shoes, clowns, tornados, weathermen, plaid, heights, widths, being alone, microbes, Bolsheviks, newts, nosebleeds, hospitals, random violence and powdered milk (and I'll admit, I'm frightened–to varying degrees–of all of those).
But I'm scared nonetheless.
When you're approaching rock bottom, when you're at your heaviest and most unhealthy, it's a miserable, crippling feeling. However, you know deep down in your heart that if you can somehow muster up the strength, the determination and the drive, you can start on the journey to climbing out of that pit. There's nowhere to go, it would seem, but up.
When you've enjoyed some success and are suddenly within eyesight of your goals, it's easy to glance down and freeze up, to suddenly see how far you have to fall and just how easy it would be to fail... again. Anyone who's yo-yo'd with their weight might understand the pressure I find myself feeling.
I thrive with a challenge in front of me, a goal that needs to be met. Something I can attack with a single-minded fury. Sustaining? Maintaining? Keeping on keeping on? Those are foreign concepts to me, and truthfully, I thought it would be a long time before I would need to start considering the idea.
The last time I had a personal assessment at the gym was a little over five years ago, and I weighed 225 lbs. I was coming off months and months of manic workout sessions, sometimes three a day. I had actually gotten down to 215 lbs, but had felt so freakin' weak at that weight that it scared me... and I purposefully packed on 10 more pounds. Read that again (because I had to even as I was writing it): I purposefully packed on ten more pounds.
During that assessment, the trainer expressed wonder at my fitness level. I was off the charts for my age range. It took her 20 minutes to get me to break a sweat and that was with my long-time nemesis, the push-up. She declared me at "the ideal weight" for me, and we devised a new workout regimen for me.
I left the gym that day and promptly went ape-sh*t crazy. The details are still fuzzy, but I began a slow (but quickly snowballing) descent back to obesity (and then some). Why would I do such a thing? What possible reason could I have had? I can't even begin to fathom it.
So here I am, back where I was, with not much left to lose and yet... with everything to lose.
So I'll stay here, using this blog and your unbelievable encouragement and support as lifelines against the choppy waters. This time, I hope the dizzying heights won't mess with my brain, won't make me light-headed and weak-willed. I believe success doesn't automatically have to be followed with an inevitable fall.
I guess it's time to prove it.