I could be really bummed out right now.
If I let myself, I could sit here boo-hooing about the number that popped up on the scale this morning.
But I’m not allowing myself to do that. Why should I?
I weighed in at 290 pounds today. That put me up a full pound over this time last week. I’m supposed to be losing weight, not gaining it, so clearly I headed in the wrong direction over the past seven days.
I want to lose weight. A lot of it. I’m in a hurry to do it, too. I want those photos I pose for each week to show obvious decreases in girth and increases in definition. I don’t want to look the same. I’m after dramatic results, the quicker the better.
Maybe that’s not the best way to approach this, though.
I know that my doctors want me to lose two pounds a week. That seems painfully slow to me until I do the math. If I average two a week over the course of a year, that’s a decrease of 104 pounds. Talk about dramatic. If I succeed at that, I will have lost the equivalent of a Hollywood actress.