Everyone's always telling me not to rush into long-term commitments.
Hi, and welcome to my analogy.
As of last Friday, I'd lost close to 11 pounds in 11 days. That's crazy. And great and wonderful and it feels fantastic to have hard work pay off so profoundly. It's very easy to stay motivated under these kinds of circumstances.
But even crazier is that it would have (or could have) been more if I'd stayed "on plan" the whole time.
I just haven't. Not because it's hard to stay on plan, though. I mean, it is, but that's not the thing. I didn't "fall" off the wagon, I purposefully and conscientiously stepped off it. There is a difference.
While I'm adjusting to this new regiment, I happen to have a series of social events planned, and I didn't want to feel I was denying myself them. (For the record? Ish and I are going to Pigs & Pinot this Friday night. It was an event featured on Top Chef, we've been waiting A YEAR to go, and it is costing us roughly a bazillion dollars. We're attending almost as a "vacation." The Wagon is not invited.)
But after that event, well. Let's be honest: I'm never going to cut wine out of my life entirely. But I do plan to get to a place where going out to dinner and ordering a salad is my idea of indulging. Or, okay, if not "indulging," at least not feeling like I'm missing out on something. I'm not there yet. But I will get there. I will. You know how I know? Because I almost am.
I can't even believe this is me writing this. Seriously.
The bottom line is that after only two weeks, everything has changed.
I feel different. My body looks different. I have more energy. I'm sleeping better. My appetite is almost completely changed.
I honestly feel like I've been on this program for a lot longer than two weeks, in a good way. And while I'm not quite down (officially) 10 pounds, I may as well be. Because I'm remembering what it felt like to lose weight before. Not all those other times when I wasn't especially successful, when I just lost a few pounds here and there. I remember what it felt like when I lost weight in college. I can't explain why it's like that now, or why I know this will be successful like it was then, but it is and I do.
Last Saturday night, I went to dinner and ordered something fatty and unhealthy, and I didn't like the way it made me feel. I don't mean I felt guilty about it (I didn't; this was my choice to make and I made it -- I stand by that). I didn't like the way it made me feel physically.
But not just that.
You know how sometimes you just order the wrong thing? Like, you go to a restaurant and can't decide what to get and then you pick something and it's just not what you wanted? And then you leave the restaurant with a slight sense of disappointment?
(Please indulge me this first-world/fat-girl problem for just a moment.)
I left the restaurant disappointed that I didn't have the grilled shrimp. Grilled shrimp! Grilled! Shrimp! I had amazing ribs and french fries (french fries are my favorite food on the entire planet), and I was disappointed about not ordering grilled shrimp.
DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW INSANE THAT IS?
Two weeks in and I'm losing interest in french fries. Something is definitely working.