It's all good. Nothing bad.
I'm excited to be getting lean. I've been somewhat lean before, but I actually had to buy a new belt. A smaller one. Then, two weeks later, I moved it down a notch.
It's hard not to be excited. Is that a light at the end of the tunnel? Steady progress. Past the points of the past attempts.
This time, I told myself that I wasn't going to give up when I saw a stall in progress. Not flip out and change my plans in frustration. In the past, I'd approach leanness and suddenly nothing happened anymore. No fat loss. No weight loss. So, I turn to gaining muscle for a while, which of course adds some fat back on.
While that did end my frustration on the short term, it does nothing for the long term satisfaction. I'm never lean. Always a bit too flabby with the shirt off.
It's particularly frustrating to see my face get leaner and leaner, my arms show more veins and muscle, while the "loose" area around the waist stayed put. You can't tell with a shirt on, but shirt off, it's another story.
This time, it feels different. Long haul!
It's very strange. I never really miss my Mother.
For most of my adolescent and adult life, my Step-Mother was my Mom. Only I didn't realize it at the time.
She was quietly supportive and always loving. She was completely accepting of me. I can't pick out ANY moment when I felt less a son that her natural sons. I didn't even live there, but I still got the full son treatment.
I've always called my Step-Brothers my Brothers. I think it's safe to say that my Step-Mom is the reason why. When you're part of the family, you are just family.
The only time I really think about my natural Mother is when I consider my journey away from fatness. She was diabetic since she was 20, and she was meticulous about her diet and always stayed pretty trim. I'm sure it was really hard on her to have a chubby son. I know she tried a lot of things to encourage me to lose weight.
Coincidentally, after she moved away to Montana, I lost the weight. Of course my first time getting fit, it was almost accidental. I played so much racquetball and rode my bikes so much that it was hard to be fat. Of course, since my diet never changed (the loser at racquetball had to buy the burgers and fries), I gained it back once I was injured.
By the time she was dying and I went to visit, I was no longer thin. She died and I lost the weight again. This time, on purpose. Good nutrition and exercise.
So, sometimes, when I see myself in the mirror, I wish that she could see me. I don't think it wouldn't have changed anything. She didn't treat me badly or anything. She loved me a lot. She was just always angry and whacko, and that made it hard to really love her back. Still, I'd like to show off a little. I know she'd be relieved.
I don't know where I'm really going with this. I have no ending.