1. I start Medifast on Tuesday, March 2. I agree to try it for a month.
2. I see results immediately, and decide to stick with it. I lose about 20 pounds in the first five-six weeks.
3. By 8-10 weeks, I'm down almost 30 pounds. (Dude. Awesome.)
4. I hit a giant plateau. I don't gain, but I don't lose, in part because:
- I have a few "off" days and nights*
- I have gall bladder issues that eventually result in surgery (I lose 3 weeks of momentum when all is said and done)
- My scale has an awesome sense of humor
*IMPORTANT: While I had (and continue to have) "off" nights and "off-program" days here and there, I am still eating about a hundred times more carefully, thoughtfully and better than I was before the program.
Most incredibly, my "off" days while on the Medifast program still look like "diet" or "on-program" days when compared to how I used to consume.
That's why I'm not gaining weight.
But OMG I need to start losing again. Because I've been teetering with this same damned five pounds for over a month now, and it's time for the scale to start moving again. Before I hit someone.
Because you know? I have goals. GOALS. And they are
My Weight Loss & Weight Goals
As of June 15, 2010
As you can see from this very expertly drawn graph, the numbers on the right are the pounds I wish to lose. Like a reverse fundraising chart.
So yep. My overall goal is to lose 80 pounds. Which is a metric shit-ton. And a discouraging amount to think about at the beginning. But now that I'm alllllllmost at the half-way point, it's a little less intimidating.
And lest you think that 80 pounds is too much for someone my size to lose, let me tell you: Even at 80 pounds lost, I will be considered "overweight" by bullshit standardized BMI calculators. On the other hand, I should be able to fit into single-digit jeans.
And we all know which of those is more important.
Let's look a little closer at these numbers, shall we?
a. I lose 20 pounds.
YAY! Off to a good start. I didn't give myself a date by which I needed to hit this number, so it happened when it happened. First hunk o' chunk GONE.
b. I plateau, yet endeavor to lose 40 pounds by June 24.
This seemed a lot more reasonable when I was down 34 pounds two weeks ago. Now that I'm still at 34 pounds, I hate this stupid goal. I hate 34 pounds. I want to kick 34 pounds' ass.
But what can you do? Ish and Eve and I are heading to Tahoe for the weekend on June 24, and I wanted to hit that magic number before we left. Just because. (Well, just because the last time I was in Tahoe, Eve was 6 weeks old and I was as heavy as I've ever been in my life.)
So I'm doing what I can. I've started working out a little more. I'm trying to increase my water intake and decrease my wine intake to practically non-existent. I don't know that I can hit 40 pounds lost by next Thursday, but it will happen. And you will hear about it, boy howdy. Because...
c. 40 pounds lost by wheneverthehellithappens.
When I hit 40 pounds lost, I will be the weight I was when I arrived in San Francisco. (Who knows, I may have weighed less, but this was the number they said at my first doctor's appointment.)
Frankly, I was shocked the number was so comparatively low.
When my husband and I separated -- or, wait, no. For those of you unfamiliar with the nuances of my back story, I should phrase that differently:
When my husband left me over the phone while I was visiting my mother who had just been diagnosed with terminal cancer, and I subsequently ended up spending the rest of the summer alone in my house in the suburbs, I found myself on something of a Divorce Diet. As happens when you suddenly realize you're going to be single again.
But I had no idea how much I weighed or how much I lost then. I just know the former was "a lot" and the latter was "whatever."
The point is, hitting this number means I will have hit a Finish Line. Which is also a Starting Line. It means I'll have undone the "damage" I've done weight/health-wise since moving to California (and, you know, having the time of my life).
d. 46 pounds.
Important because it's 10 pounds less than where I am now. And because I've been at this weight forEVER, it seems like being 10 pounds lighter will never, ever, ever happen.
(Also, it bugs me that in my drawing, I left out the period after the d.)
e. 50 pounds by BlogHer.
I don't really care how I look at BlogHer in the sense of like, "People from the internets are going to see me! I should look my best!" That mentality is absolutely comical to me. The last several years of BlogHer saw me at my most stressed, most harried, most chubbed-out, most blemished, most crazy-eyed ever. EVER. I have no secrets from BlogHer attendees, speakers, sponsors, organizers. I could show up as a size 6 in designer clothes and $400 shoes and it wouldn't make a lick of difference. The jig is up.
But. As an arbitrary deadline, it's a good one and I think it's realistic.
More importantly, oh em eff gee. NYC in AUGUST is disgusting. It is a sauna of gross. Weighing less and being more active and healthy is going to make dealing with the sticky-yuck a thousand times easier. Especially since I'll also be chasing after a baby.
AND THERE YOU HAVE IT.
Certainly there are goals past the 50-pound mark, but that just seems so impossible and far away that I'll cross that bridge later. I have these next 15 pounds to focus on for now, and that's plenty.