I’ve lost 150 lbs. When I weighed in at 161.8 lbs, that officially put me at having lost 150+ lbs. Now, my actual weight is fluctuating between 163 lbs and 167 lbs depending on what I eat, bowel movements, and water retention, and sometimes after a run I can weigh as much as -5 lbs from what I weighed in the morning. I set a final goal for me to weigh 165 lbs, and I hit it (and then some). Staying in the vicinity of 165 lbs makes me feel good, and every now and then when my weight dips below it, I smile a little bigger.
What motivates me each and every day is getting out of bed without struggle. I can pull my body up, rotate on my butt, and firmly plant my feet on the ground. I catch a glimpse of my leg muscles: they look amazing. I can’t believe these are my legs.
Stepping into the bathroom, I catch another glimpse of myself in the mirror and see my torso. It’s trim. I can see my oblique muscles, and my abs are trying to poke out from behind the extra skin I’m still dealing with. My legs are muscular and amazing.
Then, I step on the scale, and while sometimes the numbers get bigger, sometimes they also get smaller. As long as the gain isn’t too big, I know what the reasons are for the weight the scale is showing me, and if it makes sense, I don’t get upset. It’s just verification of certain facts I’m already aware of.
Then there is how my clothing fits me. When I pick it up off the hanger, it looks small to me. Impossibly small, even. I think to myself, “This must be a mistake. This shirt is too small to fit on me.” Then I put it on, and it fits perfectly with even some room to spare.
I walk over to the kitchen where Sherry has typically put out breakfast for me. It’s a serving of either two eggs sunny-side up with three slices of bacon or a slice of egg casserole. Again, I see this and think to myself, “That’s not enough food,” yet when I finish it, I am full. Comfortably and pleasantly full.
Sitting in my car, being able to look down and not see my stomach, having room between me and the steering wheel, and being able to get in and out of the car without struggling.
All of these things motivate me before I even get to 8 am. I can’t say I’m tempted or challenged anymore on a daily basis, but for those rare moments when someone offers something I would otherwise enjoy eating, it’s a nice reservoir of motivation to pull from when I decline and say, “No, thanks.”