Dinner is done, kitchen is cleaned. I am sitting neatly at 940 calories and 5 3/4 quarts of water down. I still have plenty of calories for some evening snacking, if I am so inclined.
So far, so good. I am not feeling the need to rebel, binge or go on a feeding frenzy. This is working. I seem to thrive on structure. Actually, I know I do. It is funny, this lower calorie range feels somehow easier, more free than when I was working with a range between 1200 to 1500. It was too easy to slide, to say, "Oh, 1600 just for today is okay." Or "Oh, it's okay if I slipped and went to 200 or a little beyond, after all, it is still technically in my loss range. I'll just do better next meal, next day." I don't have that much wiggle room. And it is suiting me. Maybe after this phase ends, I will have learned better control and can go back to a target range. We'll see.
At the moment, I am not thinking about that. I am just concentrating on getting through one day at a time. Staying within the 1200 calorie limit (I occasionally go aver 5-20) and getting in all of my water. Day by day, I am going to make this happen. I am determined to rock this phase. I want to hit 250. Maybe below, by the end of this phase. If I do, I will weigh less than I have sometime during my pregnancy back in 1988. When I got pregnant, I weighed about 224, after my son was born, I weighed 254. And I just went up, up, up from there, with occasional spurts of weight loss that never did take me lower than that point.
Those spurts of weight loss did accomplish one thing... They kept me from getting to 500 pounds, or higher. When I think about how out of control I was and how easily I could have ended up at 500 pounds or higher, provided I survived, I am gobsmacked. And horrified. And I am well aware that so far, I have dodged a major bullet.
I am not the picture of perfect health. I know this very well. But I am getting better and better, all the time. (Shingles not withstanding... lol) I can climb stairs without wanting to barf up my lungs. I can walk two or three miles over pretty tough terrain without falling down and wanting to give up and go home to my mommy. I am wearing smaller clothes than I have in a long time. Nearly a decade! And most important; I have hope. For the first time in a very long, long time. I have hope that I can do this. That I can reach a healthy weight, change my life and enjoy my years ahead.
Hope feels good and hope tastes better than a burger or a big, sloppy sandwich or a huge plate of pancakes covered in butter and syrup.
A hell of a lot better.