I'm 53 pounds lighter than I was last March, and I figure I can look at this in two different ways.
I can be extremely annoyed that I've only managed to average a one pound per week loss. It hardly seems fair, right? No matter how vigilant I am about my choices and portions, and no matter how much I push myself with everything, I apparently can't make myself lose any faster. Growl, growl, snarl.
Or . . . I can realize that
hey . . . thanks to all my vigilance and hard work in the past year, I'm currently at my lowest weight
ever. Because I'd wasted a lifetime of feeling like any effort that didn't get results
now wasn't good enough, saying
screw it and eating myself all the way up to
360 pounds.
At the rate I'm currently losing, it's going to take another year and a half to reach my goal. And I'm ok with that. I don't have any control over how quickly I can lose, but I do have control over the choices I make every single day. I'm choosing healthier habits to live a longer, fuller life, and if I have to be extra patient for my smaller body to arrive, so be it.
It's really been helpful for me to let my main focus be my long-term health, not the amount of time it's taking to reach a certain number.
I can't wait to see where I'm at next March.