This has been some kind of year.
I guess I don’t have to tell you that I was in a bad place twelve months ago. My diets came in fits and starts. Five days of super-high motivation followed by a serious setback or two and then… well… the tide washed me back to shore, fatter and sadder than before I made the attempt.
It’s heart-wrenching, isn’t it? That realization that this wasn’t the time you were finally gonna do it. That this is just one more failed attempt to pile on all the dozens (or let’s be honest with one another… maybe even hundreds) of dashed dreams and broken promises.
Believe me, I know what it feels like. The idea starts taking root in your head that maybe this is just too tough for you. That it’s your destiny to spend whatever remains of your days in a body that you really can’t manage to feel good about.
Man, a picture says it all, doesn’t it? I look like the most miserable sad sack that ever walked the planet. And how the holy hell did my “camera radar” not kick in and allow me to swiftly shuffle out of the photo?
I can’t tell you what it was the finally flipped the switch. As bad as it is, that picture wasn’t enough to do it. Splitting the seat of my pants in public wasn’t enough to do it. Feeling out of sorts and out of control wasn’t enough.
It’s been suggested to me that my breakthrough came because I had a weekend on my own and finally was able to have a heart-to-heart talk with the only person who could do anything about my situation: me. Maybe that was it… maybe the day-to-day din of our hectic lives doesn’t provide us with the self-reflection time we need to make the big decisions about our health and well-being.
I give this blog a world of credit as well. I post regularly because doing so keeps this weight-loss journey bubbling on the front burner, even when I’m simply jibber-jabbing about nothing of much relevance or importance. That interaction with this wonderful weight-loss world keeps my focus laser-sharp.
These days, having lost nearly 90 pounds to the good, I don’t feel so helpless or hopeless anymore. I don’t feel like my future is outside my own control, and I don’t feel like a stranger in my own skin. Actually, I feel like I’m coming home.
And I don’t freak out when somebody pulls out a Nikon.
I may not say it enough, but thanks to everyone who makes it a point to stop by this space, whether it’s every day or every so often. I really do appreciate your compliments, your good advice, your words of encouragement and the way some of you have a tendency to get a little assy and sassy. Comments on my posts sometimes turn into a rockin’ blog party, and it never ceases to make my day.
And here I am today, in all my sweaty glory, just having wrapped up a 20-mile bike run with lots of hills. When I look at that first picture these days, I like to imagine that that fat dude is puzzling over a strange text message he just received: “GET UR @SS IN THE GYM, JUMBO. YOUR PAL, JACK SH*T.”