Finally
When I met the man I now call Hubby, I weighed 135 pounds, which was the lightest I've ever weighed since junior high. All through high school, I hovered right at 150. After high school, college, grad school and three kids, I've hovered right at 150. Let's just say I've never been dainty. And more often than not, I'm alright with that. But I worked really, really hard to get to 135, and I truly enjoyed being able to go into a fitting room and try on clothes of all sorts, and come out feeling happy. Well, over a six year period, I put on 23 pounds. When I hit 158, I was one unhappy camper.
That's when Hubby and I started our own Biggest Loser competition. I went with the P90X program while Hubby chose to walk on the treadmill. Over the 90 day period we kept track of our progress. I managed to lose ten pounds during that time. At the end of the 90 days, I switched to running. Over the next four or five months, the weight loss just didn't happen, and in frustration, I quit weighing myself. Part of me kept saying, "JK, you're in your late 40's. Does it really matter what you weigh?" After all, it's not like I was a single twentysomething searching for my soulmate. My clothes were fitting much better, as well, so did it matter that I couldn't get back to 135 pounds? Even though these things were true, it did matter to me, so I decided to keep going with the working out, changing things up to try and move the scale in the downward direction.
When I began training for the sprint tri last year, I thought for sure the scale would move. It didn't. When I began cycling, going for 30, 50, 60 miles at a time, I thought the scale would move. It didn't. Frustration grew, and again, I stopped weighing myself. My clothes continued to fit better, which wasn't making any sense to me, and I even had to buy a size 6 slacks when I shopped for some career clothes. I was stunned at this. Happy, but stunned.
Then I bought the book Racing Weight by Matt Fitzgerald. I read that book in two days. I felt like the secrets to becoming a lighter, faster athlete were being given to me through the words on the pages. I knew I had to change the way I eat in order to be a better athlete and in order to lose the weight I desperately wanted to lose. Knowing this and actually following through, however, are two different things.
Three weeks ago, I weighed in, thinking I had to be under 148 since all my clothes were looser, since I was working out anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour five to six times a week. The scale leveled out at . . . 148. At that moment, I knew I had to commit to a change if I was ever going to get under that number. I had to stop allowing myself to say things like, "Oh, that order of fries isn't going to hurt me. I've already burned 400 calories working out." Who was I trying to kid?
So I pulled out my clean eating cookbook and began my journey to better eating. I've been keeping track every single day of every single thing that goes into my mouth. Most days have been really, really good, clean eating days. A couple of days have been really, really bad non-quality foods days. Those bad days I acknowledge, but then they go into the file and I move on, working to make the next day better. After three weeks of this, I decided to weigh in. I stepped on the scale this morning, and it leveled out at . . . 145. Finally.
That's when Hubby and I started our own Biggest Loser competition. I went with the P90X program while Hubby chose to walk on the treadmill. Over the 90 day period we kept track of our progress. I managed to lose ten pounds during that time. At the end of the 90 days, I switched to running. Over the next four or five months, the weight loss just didn't happen, and in frustration, I quit weighing myself. Part of me kept saying, "JK, you're in your late 40's. Does it really matter what you weigh?" After all, it's not like I was a single twentysomething searching for my soulmate. My clothes were fitting much better, as well, so did it matter that I couldn't get back to 135 pounds? Even though these things were true, it did matter to me, so I decided to keep going with the working out, changing things up to try and move the scale in the downward direction.
When I began training for the sprint tri last year, I thought for sure the scale would move. It didn't. When I began cycling, going for 30, 50, 60 miles at a time, I thought the scale would move. It didn't. Frustration grew, and again, I stopped weighing myself. My clothes continued to fit better, which wasn't making any sense to me, and I even had to buy a size 6 slacks when I shopped for some career clothes. I was stunned at this. Happy, but stunned.
Then I bought the book Racing Weight by Matt Fitzgerald. I read that book in two days. I felt like the secrets to becoming a lighter, faster athlete were being given to me through the words on the pages. I knew I had to change the way I eat in order to be a better athlete and in order to lose the weight I desperately wanted to lose. Knowing this and actually following through, however, are two different things.
Three weeks ago, I weighed in, thinking I had to be under 148 since all my clothes were looser, since I was working out anywhere from 45 minutes to an hour five to six times a week. The scale leveled out at . . . 148. At that moment, I knew I had to commit to a change if I was ever going to get under that number. I had to stop allowing myself to say things like, "Oh, that order of fries isn't going to hurt me. I've already burned 400 calories working out." Who was I trying to kid?
So I pulled out my clean eating cookbook and began my journey to better eating. I've been keeping track every single day of every single thing that goes into my mouth. Most days have been really, really good, clean eating days. A couple of days have been really, really bad non-quality foods days. Those bad days I acknowledge, but then they go into the file and I move on, working to make the next day better. After three weeks of this, I decided to weigh in. I stepped on the scale this morning, and it leveled out at . . . 145. Finally.
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