I never can tell what’s finally going to push me into another concerted weight loss effort, hoping it’s the last one.
All of the “little” practical wins are still there, waiting for me. It’s imperative that I drop a jeans size in the next couple of months. I have six or seven pairs in the next size down to fall into, and I’m down to three pairs that I can wear now (condition B- to C). I’ve also accumulated a couple hundred bucks’ worth of new shirts and sweaters that are too small, but not so small I returned them. If I’d just get sustainedly serious, I’d have a marvelous wardrobe infusion for “free.”
Living longer and better, of course. Blah blah blah. But none of that was the impetus this time. Know what was?
Lea and I sat with some folks who are somewhere between longtime acquaintances and friends at a football game several weeks ago. They’re our age, but considerably more attractive, partially because they’ve taken care of themselves and never gotten overweight. (He’s a better-looking guy than I am anyway, but…you know.) I had a Diet Coke, but he had a Coke. (See, you can eat or drink whatever you want with no ill consequences, so long as you do the right thing most of the time.) And it’s been some time since I’ve done the right thing most of the time dietetically.
I started thinking “gee, we’re going to see them for several more years. I might like to sit next to them at a football game one day and not feel fat.” That was the trigger.
My reasons are deeper than that, of course, but it’s a nice visual encapsulation to which I can easily return.