Last year, on Fat Tuesday, I weighed 255.5 lbs. Today, I weigh 228.3. Any loss is a win, and I value that piece of my health returning to me. But really, that is 27.2 lbs in a year. I can do so much better. I think I am looking at this all wrong. I have been measuring total loss across the journey, but that timeline is getting longer and longer. I am stretching out the time to my goal way too thin. This is my life: my whole life and I am fudging around with it.
No more half way, regardless of pain, illness, weakness. Anything I do to make myself healthy will make me stronger. Even if it doesn't seem like it at the time.
So, for Lent, I give up the gluttony of excuses. This will be the hardest Lent I think I am going to ever have.
I need to get over myself, and quick.
In other news, I finally told my father I am getting married. He has been distant with me for about 2 years, ever since he has had money problems. He seemed somewhat happy for me, but his depression clouds his expression of emotion. He lost his health, and couldn't keep up with his finances. The US is fundamentally cruel to our seriously ill. He is another motivation, as I just can't stomach the idea of being him: super strong, then annihilated by a heart attack. My former invincible Dad has to sleep all day on Wednesdays and Sundays, so he can gather the strength to go to work and sit at a desk for 8 hours. God, I wish rest was enough. I know his lack of support effects my stress, but I need to use this event for good. Sometimes even negatives need to turn to positives.
Weight Loss in the Age of Trump
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