Renewing My Focus

There was a time when I would sit at my computer every Tuesday evening and write about my weigh-in. I’d determine where I’d gone astray that week and make plans for the following week. After a while, those posts started to get repetitive, and I started to wonder why I kept writing them if I didn’t plan to do anything different.

So I stopped.

Tonight, I’m sprawled on the loveseat, smartphone in hand, tapping away at the screen. Wondering where my tape measure is — it’s been months since I took any measurements — but not caring enough to look for it. My mouth still hurts from yesterday’s adjustment to my braces, so I went over my Points allotment for today by holding off on eating until I was starving, then eating all the soft and unhealthy things I could find.

I’ve gained a few pounds back that I had previously lost, but nothing epic. Yet. If I keep eating this way, with wanton disregard to the program and my daily target, I’ll quickly balloon back up to my Oh Shit weight.

I’ve been in this weird half-assed limbo for some time. Not really tracking, not really caring if I lose or stay the same.

The thing is, I do care.

Deep down, I’m tired of my clothes not fitting quite right. I want to honestly say that I don’t care if my shirt touches me just so. I want my pants to fall more naturally in the front, and not do that weird fat puckery thing in the crotchal region.

I also want to feel better. To have more energy. To sleep better. To reduce the stress on my offset vertebra and relieve my bulging disc.

It’s a challenge, though, to draw the parallel between Right Now and my Someday Goal of losing 20 more pounds. Right now, I want dessert. Right now, I want to go out with my co-workers, or my husband, or my friends. Right now, I want a hard cider. It’s challenging to step backward from that goal and to see how tiny choices will affect my getting there.

But they will. And they do. And they have.

The next time I decide I want something from the vending machine, or some French fries, or an order of fried rice, I need to step back and reconsider. Eye on the prize and all that.

Sometimes, though, it’s just so hard to make myself give a shit.

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