As far as weight loss is concerned, I feel like I have a job where I’ve been told I have to work longer hours for half the pay. Back in the beginning, I could do some walking and eat pretty well and lose 2 or 3 pounds a week. Now I have to run several days a week, do my Pilates, and watch what I eat carefully in the hopes of losing a pound or half a pound a week. It doesn’t seem fair. I’ve entered a phase of where I have to work harder for less results.
The motivations are slightly less too since my weight loss from here on out is mostly for vanity and not health. I’m sure there will be some health benefits from losing the final 30 pounds, but I’m not concerned about suffocating in the night from sleep apnea anymore. I’m not worried that death’s carriage is going to make a stop by my apartment door like an Emily Dickenson poem.
Don’t worry, I’m still going to work towards goal. It’s just that all pounds are not created equal and these last 30 look like they’re going to be the hardest. I wonder how those remaining little fat cells feel, seeing their brothers and sisters vanishing like a magician’s assistant in a trick box. They’ve been huddling in the back when the other fat cells got drafted to leave, probably hoping I’d go back to eating pizza and doughnuts so they could stay home, comfortably lining the tissues of my belly and thighs. Hopefully they’ll be packing their bags and vacating the premise soon.
In some ways I envy the people who are just starting out now at the beginning of the year. Those first pounds are some of the easiest and most exciting to lose.