At the start of 2020, at around 240 pounds, I made the goal to weigh under two hundred by the end of the year. That’s a reasonable, healthy goal–40 pounds over 52 weeks is just under 4/5ths of a pound a week, well within range of moderate diet and exercise.
I stuck at or above 235 for the first four months of 2020, for this simple reason: if nothing changes, nothing changes. I made no effort to assess, let alone edit, my diet or (in)activity, but I still faithfully weighed in every two weeks, despondent.
I started a program that changes one’s mindset and habits gradually. I’m on like, week nine, and it’s interesting that they’re repeating original lessons, I guess in case we forget, but I’d also assume because this is very, very simple to understand: don’t eat too much, don’t eat too much delicious garbage, and move more.
Since aiming for 10,000 steps a day, introducing moderate bodyweight exercises (the worst twenty minutes of my day!) and being a little more aware, I am now, on July 1, halfway through 220, at 217.2 pounds. I have officially lost 20 pounds on this program (which remains nameless because they’re not paying me to endorse them… yet?) and I could not be happier.
The little weight graph in the app (one gets to weigh in every day, to see that weight is in flux, not a straight line of decline) suggests I may hit 199.9 before my thirty-sixth birthday. That would be neat–and I’ll bet, since I can see I’ve slimmed up, but haven’t lost some curves and, er, pockets, that I can still tone up and lose some more, healthily and intentionally, once I cross that two-buck threshold.