After my first 2 weeks of eating right, I started to feel better physically and emotionally. I was feeling pretty good about things. To be honest, I really didn't feel ready to embark on this seemingly impossible task but I had found resolve. I was going to do this whether I wanted to or not and I was running with the mantra...
'Fake it 'til you make it'.
On average, I was working out around 30-45 minutes/day. Everyday. No excuses. I hated it but I knew it had to be done. Some days I would do the 'let's try to talk myself out of the working out' thing all day long and find myself working out at 10pm. But I always did it. There were days my muscles were so sore or I would be sick hacking up a lung...NO EXCUSES. I did it no matter what. It sucked but I made a promise to myself and I knew I had to put 150% into this. So I went balls-to-the-wall.
And then I had my second weigh-in. NOTHING.
Two more weigh-ins later, still nothing.
I wanted to cry until I couldn't cry anymore. I wanted to curl in a ball in bed. I was devastated. I am not exaggerating. For an entire month, I ate perfectly and worked out every day. Every single damn day. WTH was going on? I did lose a few inches but that didn't console me, it didn't even come close. My husband Jay was wonderful. He saw how hard I was working and he knew I was doing everything right. I was exercising, I was eating enough (but not too much), and I was eating lots of vegetables, lean meats, whole grains, and cut out all the crap foods. He would tell me to hang in there, that I was building muscle, & that it would all start to come together. He promised me. But I didn't believe it.
I cried a lot over it, I was scared something was wrong with me. I mean how can a 260 pound woman who did nothing and ate like a sumo wrestler NOT have results after exercising everyday and eating correctly? I could NOT fathom it, and I processed all of it as a failure. I was a failure. I was destined to be fat and miserable. Yes, I had my pity party moments. I'm not proud of it, but I'm human and hell, I was at a loss. But guess what? I allowed myself times to pout, but I would snap myself out of it and get back on that damn horse. I never gave up.
I have to interject here though and restate, I was feeling better. I felt more healthy and stronger. I knew something right and good was happening inside me but damn, I wanted to drop the weight. Every weigh-in resulted in me crying. But I never gave up. And I mean never. NOT ONCE did I sneak a cookie, or skip a workout, or have an extra helping. Believe me or don't believe me. But I was dead serious about this. I had failed over and over for 10 years trying to lose weight. This time I was determined to once and for all lose this damn weight. It was cut-throat time.
I was sick of being fat and unhappy. I was sick of not even being able to get comfortable in a chair or in my bed. It broke my heart that my 3 1/2 year old couldn't wrap her arms around me and give me a hug. I was done living this way.
I NEVER hit a plateau after those 4 months. Never.
Now, I wasn't dropping crazy amounts of weight, but it was slow and steady. I averaged a 5 lb weight loss each month as well as losing around 4-5 inches every month, give or take.
But after what I went through the first 4 months, it was freakin' awesome to see the scale, the measuring tape, and my clothes all showing signs of success...consistently. I attribute never hitting another plateau to the large amount of muscle mass I had gained. All that muscle was keeping my metabolism going and was burning calories for me all day long.
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