So I'm on month four of the lifestyle change. (MONTH FOUR! Four months. Sixteen weeks. 112 days. 2,688 hours. 161,280 minutes. Yes. I've been thinking about this a lot.) I've plateaued like four times and each time is worse than the last. Currently I've lost a total of 37 pounds. I eat 1000 to 1100 calories a day and I exercise six times a week. I hate that I've stopped losing weight. If I weren't going to go to the doctor next month I would be screaming "WHY! Why am I not losing weight?" I've looked up all kinds of answers. I'm not cheating on food portions. I might not be sleeping enough. I might not be getting enough vitamin D. I might have some issues with hormones.
I want the guy to be enthusiastic, dammit. I want him to do a cheerleading routine on my weight loss! I want him to run out into the hallway and scream out that I'm the best patient, ever! Am I going to be disappointed? Probably.
So this last week I went to get a new pair of pants. Why? All my other pairs of jeans are sliding down my ass which isn't a style choice I like to go with.
Although I did some sewing to save myself a little money and also to use the old jeans as working-in-the-garden jeans, even those are too baggy, so they went up on the shelf in the closet because I can't quite bring myself to throw them away...yet.
Therefore I'm in Walmart. Why am I in Walmart? Because Walmart is where I usually buy my fat jeans. You can see my mindset hasn't yet moved into the proper zone. I literally went to Walmart to buy my fat jeans because it hadn't sunk in that I didn't need to buy fat jeans again. (Duh moment approaching.) Without hesitation I went to the fat women's section. (They call it the women's section because calling it the fat section might not be PC.) I'm standing there like a doofus because I can't find a size 14.
Yes, I am truly confused. I look. I look again. I look a third time, and then I had to scratch my head. I think if I was MacGyver, I would have found it. In fact, I would have used a Swiss Army knife to make a new pair for myself out of old ones.
Then it dawns on me.
I'm in the wrong section. I was IN THE WRONG FRICKIN' SECTION. So I surreptitiously slide on over to the misses section. I expect someone will yell at me like Donald Sutherland in Invasion of the Body Snatchers.
I mean, I'm looking around expecting someone to look at me and ask, "What are you doing here?" But they don't and I'm all like, "Hey, this must be a meaningful moment."
I went to the US Space & Rocket Center to see my daughter graduate from Space Camp the very next day, and my husband who I was meeting there, did not recognize me when he was looking for me. So it's another meaningful moment.
I may be plateaued, but it doesn't mean it's necessarily a bad thing.
Fat Woman out.