I gotta be honest with you - I thought 50 pounds would never come. And when I really step back and look at it, it didn't take that long at all. But when we're caught up in the day to day grind of not seeing the numbers we want on the scale, when we feel battle-worn and bruised, the idea of "quitting" can seem an easy leap to make. Screw this. I'm tired. I don't want to do this anymore.

But what exactly is "this"?

Eating good food. Exercising more (which I am learning to really enjoy). Feeling better about myself inside and out. Looking better in a mirror. Shedding pound after pound of emotional weight along side the physical pounds lost.

And what is "quitting"?

Eating fast food today - all day. And then maybe tomorrow. And then maybe the next day too. Sitting on my butt in front of the television. Binging. Feeling like I'm going to burst the seat out of my pants. Wheezing for breath. Having trouble sleeping because my fat is suffocating me. Feeling regret, and hatred, and depression with each and every pound I gain. Being in denial over how big I really am.

Why on earth would I want to quit? I don't care if it takes me a month to lose the next 2 pounds, "THIS" is still better than "QUITTING". Hands down.

I've talked a little in the past about physical vs. emotional thresholds. I believe that the body has a series of these that are just as hard to cross going up as they are going down. I remember when I was still gaining weight, I hung out at 280 pounds and then 290 pounds for a really long time before I crossed over the threshold and continued to gain. But once I crossed over, the road between 281 and 290 was a short one at best...like we're talking a week. And it's been the same thing for me on the way down. I get really close to a big number and then it's like time freezes and I hang out there for a few weeks before something clicks and the scale drops me a big number. Then I lose like gangbusters for a couple of weeks and it's the same thing over again. I know now that I'm going to have to do this probably every 10 pounds. But I'm ok with that. I'm not going to be a person that can lose 10 pounds in a month, ever. But since my physical weight loss is coinciding so much with my emotional weight loss, I don't think I'm a person that could handle losing 10 pounds of "brain fat" a month. It takes time to adjust while you're going down and this is just another reason that slower is better. I need those 3 weeks to get hung up on a number on the scale because it usually also means that I'm fighting through something mentally that I also have to break through to move on.

While I was looking at 47.6 pounds lost for the past 3 weeks, I was contemplating quitting. I told myself a lot of things over those 3 weeks. Maybe this was my limit. Maybe I was meant to be a fat person for the rest of my life. Maybe I couldn't really do this. I even started having dreams that I was going to die, because it was easier for me to think about dying an early death than to ever be thin. That's some serious business right there. But that's how far off "thin" feels to me. I have been living in a fat body for my whole, entire life. The idea that someday (and someday soon) I might not have to anymore is terrifying. So much so that it's easier to think that I'm going to die before that ever happens.

I was also thinking about eating. A lot. I was thinking about how much I missed fast food. And fries. I blogged about my weekend of more wine than water. And I ate the fries. I let that happen and then got right back on track. I've been drinking at least TEN glasses of water every day this week. And I'm not craving fries anymore. And that's what life looks like right now. I didn't quit. I actually didn't even really "cave". I just did something that anyone (even a thin person) would do in that situation. I allowed myself what I needed and then I moved on. There was no falling off the wagon. No big, dramatic "IT'S OVER" moment. It was a plate of french fries, and a bottle of wine and now I'm down 50 pounds.

I'm not saying that eating a plate of french fries and drinking a bottle of wine helped me lose those last 2.4 pounds. Probably just the opposite. But getting over that mental hurdle maybe did. Who knows how it happens. The body works in mysterious ways, and mine especially I have come to understand will do what it wants to do when it wants to do it. But I am growing patience by the day, and I'm doing everything right. This will happen for me. And there is no longer such a thing as "quitting". It doesn't exist in my vocabulary. Because quitting doesn't look the same anymore. It's not bright and shiny. It's not the thing I can't have. It's the thing I've had for all too long, and I'm DONE with it.