All I want is to get to the finish line.
Whenever I use that phrase I get reminded that there’s no such thing as a finish line, that healthy eating is for life, that maintenance is the real bitch, etc etc etc. While I am aware of this, I just want to be done with the losing part. It’s been six weeks short of six years, and I’ve bloody had enough.
People often ask me why I’m shooting specifically for 75kg. According to every calculator and online tool I’ve ever used, this is the very top of the healthy weight range for a 173cm (5’8") large-framed chick. After all these years of lard-busting I will be more than happy to simply reach the upper limit of that range. That will be enough. I just want to be able to say I got there; that I saw it through to the end. I’ve watched the sidebar statistics ping down and down and up and down throughout this lard-busting journey, and now I’m just hanging out for the one fine day where I can make it say, To go: ZERO kilos.
And after that, I will not give a shit about the number! I don’t want maintenance to be about Scale Anxiety. I could go on a new mission to get somewhere more in the middle of my healthy weight range, but I refuse to expend any more energy on numbers. I am just so bloody tired after nigh on six years of ceremonious weekly weigh-ins, arrrgh! Once I hit 75kg I am going to make my goals entirely about fitness, and if they result in the the scale going down that will be a happy accident. Who knows, it could go up if I gain some muscle! Either way I will let it settle where it wants to and let the fit of my jeans be the measure of what shape I’m in.
I just want my goals to be completely removed from the scales. It will be about building muscle and getting stronger and leaner and healthier. I want to learn to ride my bike without wobbles and take up yoga and get to a point where I can swim laps for half an hour. I just want to get on with it, continuing my healthy lifestyle. I want to take it further and push harder each and every year just because I want to; because that’s how I live my life… not because I’m trying to lose weight.
But right now I have some more pounds to lose. I am chugging along with the Going For Gold challenge. I’m eating well and doing as much exercise as my wonky body currently allows, all while keeping an eye on the scale because DAMMIT, I do want that numerical satisfaction of reaching a set goal. Throughout my life I’ve started so many projects and never quite finished them as I am fundamentally lazy as hell. But since this has been the most time-consuming, life-altering project I’ve ever undertaken, I want this to be one I actually complete.
I only wish this determination could have come a little earlier in the year. There’s only six weeks left in the GFG Challenge and the big fat festive season is plonked right in the middle of it. Where was this hunger and focus during the long days of summer!? I was too busy watching the bloody World Cup instead. Oh well. I dunno, you’re either in that Zone where you really want to succeed or you’re not. And only now do I feel genuinely in the right head space to galumph my way to the finish line.
. . .
Something wacky was up with Bloglines this week. I use that site to read all your blogs and for some reason it wasn’t telling me who’d updated. I got a whole weeks worth of entries last night from the likes of Kathryn, Amanda Jane and Emily. I thought you were all GONE FOREVER! You think I would have just manually checked the sites the old fashioned way, but nooo. I’m not very bright.
. . .
I’ve always regretted not taking measurements throughout all this fat fighting caper. I would love to know what my waist measurement was in 2001! At the time I didn’t bother because the scale number was scary enough, let alone getting out the tape measure. And did I even have a waist? Not that the tape would have fitted round me. Nothing bloody fitted then; not towels, bathrobes nor seat belts.
But since so many of you guys have sung the praises of measurements I finally did it a few weeks ago. Awkwardly. It is so hard to be accurate! I had to choose landmark freckles. Anyway, I measured again on Sunday night and found there was another half-inch off my waist, taking it down to 33 inches. Everyone keeps banging on about waist measurements and the risk of heart disease, like the UK government and that Doctor Oz bloke on Oprah. So if I can shrink another inch-and-a-bit and get below 32 inches then I will be deemed Of Healthy Waist and perhaps I will get a certificate from Oprah or the Prime Minister. Cool!