I imagined things would get easier as I progressed week to week. Instead, it feels like a constant struggle, I’m stumbling, flailing without control.
Carbs, like breads, sweets, and sodas, seem to always hover in the back of my mind. That craving, that itch, the mild salivation that comes from remembering what soda tastes like or how the crunch of a chip feels in my mouth. Every meal is an excuse to have just a little of something, a tortilla here, some chips there, a sprinkle of cheese. I don’t consume enough calories during the day, especially since I began increasing my running and lifting heavy things with regularity. So the little cheats are passable. Right?
Cheat days are more like cheat weekends and it seems like my body spends more time catching up than anything else.
I lost nothing this week. I expected to, but…I didn’t. Not a single point of a pound. Not a single portion of an inch. Everything remained as it was.
I’m trying not to be disappointed, trying not to be hard on myself. But I am.
What I am getting is stronger, enjoying exercise more, losing fear of pain and sweat to elation for the thrill. That’s something.
So I celebrated. A new top. A couple new (and much needed) bras. A night out on the town with my two besties. Maybe I didn’t get any numbers, but we had an amazing time regardless.
I’m going to continue to have struggles with food and the series of flare-ups that come associated with improper diet will serve to remind me that the helping of whatever-it-is-I’m-not-supposed-to-eat just isn’t worth it. Make mistakes I will, human and fallible I am, persistent and beautiful I will always be.