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llcoolvadSo I was walking along the river during lunch today, enjoying the sunshine and the cold air. I'd finished my tuna sandwich, and was looking forward to ending my walk at Au Bon Pain for some hard boiled eggs and some grapes. I had on an audiobook, was walking pretty briskly, and my heart rate was up a smidge. I felt pretty damned good.
And I realized right then, and really for the first time, that my weight loss was really actually all my doing. I mean, I got scared by my doctor back in the summer, I had a painful breakup right after that, and those things combined to make the start of my dieting easier than it could have been: I was anxious and unhappy enough to not want to eat much.*
But every day I continue to make good decisions. Every single day. I stand in check-out lines next to candy racks. Old me would get something, if not two or three somethings. New me sometimes picks up a Hershey bar and reads the calories on the back and puts it back, or sometimes just looks away. I go to the grocery store and walk down the ice cream aisle. Old me would get a couple of pints, eat them in a couple of nights. New me gets one or two of those cute single serving containers and only has one when I have the calories left over. Old me went out to restaurants every single day off that I had, usually for lunch, and had a big giant meal while I read my book. New me gets a 6" sub from Subway and eats it at home, then puts in a load of laundry and does some dishes. Old me at Au Bon Pain, raspberry and cheese croissant. New me, grapes and eggs. Not HUGE differences, but differences.
And here's the crux of it: no one would know if I got the candy, ate the pint of ice cream, had a giant meal filled with cheese and bacon and all things delicious, or got the croissant. But the act of taking conscious notice of everything that I eat, each and every day, has made it so that I would know, and that I would really understand, and at last I am enough.
* My parents actually quit smoking in a similar way — they'd both been sick one weekend, realized at the end of the weekend that they each hadn't smoked in 3 days, and decided to make it 4, and then managed to never smoke again. Dad had a 4 packs a day habit, Mom was around 3 packs. I was always impressed by that. They'd tried to quit before, and failed, which I think clearly says something about the idea that you need to be ready.
And I realized right then, and really for the first time, that my weight loss was really actually all my doing. I mean, I got scared by my doctor back in the summer, I had a painful breakup right after that, and those things combined to make the start of my dieting easier than it could have been: I was anxious and unhappy enough to not want to eat much.*
But every day I continue to make good decisions. Every single day. I stand in check-out lines next to candy racks. Old me would get something, if not two or three somethings. New me sometimes picks up a Hershey bar and reads the calories on the back and puts it back, or sometimes just looks away. I go to the grocery store and walk down the ice cream aisle. Old me would get a couple of pints, eat them in a couple of nights. New me gets one or two of those cute single serving containers and only has one when I have the calories left over. Old me went out to restaurants every single day off that I had, usually for lunch, and had a big giant meal while I read my book. New me gets a 6" sub from Subway and eats it at home, then puts in a load of laundry and does some dishes. Old me at Au Bon Pain, raspberry and cheese croissant. New me, grapes and eggs. Not HUGE differences, but differences.
And here's the crux of it: no one would know if I got the candy, ate the pint of ice cream, had a giant meal filled with cheese and bacon and all things delicious, or got the croissant. But the act of taking conscious notice of everything that I eat, each and every day, has made it so that I would know, and that I would really understand, and at last I am enough.
* My parents actually quit smoking in a similar way — they'd both been sick one weekend, realized at the end of the weekend that they each hadn't smoked in 3 days, and decided to make it 4, and then managed to never smoke again. Dad had a 4 packs a day habit, Mom was around 3 packs. I was always impressed by that. They'd tried to quit before, and failed, which I think clearly says something about the idea that you need to be ready.
