Thursday, September 19, 2013
A long, long time ago, when I was a teenager I started gaining weight for the first time since I was little more than a toddler (aside from basic growing weight). As I found myself officially "chubby" I thought to myself if I ever weighed 200 pounds I would die (of embarrassment). Then. after I had my kids - at 22, I did, and I did not die. As time went by, the new "die" point scooched up to 250, and then 300 -- I reached both, and here I've lived to tell about it.
Along the way, I've come to be bothered by those who harp over those supposed extra ten pounds that I can't even see. I told myself, that if I got down to what "they" weigh, I would appreciate it. Today, I'm 235, still 66 pounds from my goal, 33 away from breaking out of the "obese" category, but it's come over years. I spent a long time on a 285 plateau, then hovered between 265 and 270 forever. I couldn't break 250 to save my life -- then I did. And I sat in the low 240s for some time as well.
While I'm as excited to break a plateau as anyone, I've realized that they are a gift. I've learned that when I find myself at a standstill I can stop and look around and see how far I've come. I'm down 74 pounds, but I can't take it for granted. Wallowing over the other 66 won't get me anywhere, and it will keep me from appreciating this moment where I'm giving myself a well deserved pat on the back. I reward myself with new little challenges that were once out of my league.
I've learned to stop and enjoy the view, and even the long plateaus don't seem quite so long.