to say I'm done trying to lose any more weight.
I lost a pound this week, meaning I again have 12 to go to reach my goal. I've been at my current weight (or just slightly below) since early November. I've traveled a lot in the past couple months, which has affected my exercise routine more than my meal plan.
Maybe as the weather improves – spring is on the way, right? – and I get out more, and especially maybe when I begin running again these last few pounds will slip away.
In the meantime, I'm happy-happy-happy to have clothes (and shoes) that fit and look good. Oh, my, I'm having fun wearing cool footwear. I've also started wearing jewelry and using make-up. I guess I'm not hiding any more.
I know what to eat when I'm hungry and I don't miss what I've chosen not to have.
To be brutally honest, I miss cheese sometimes. But I've been able to add a little feta or parmesan or goat cheese to a salad once in a while with no ill effects. And even though cavewomen didn't have dark chocolate, modern followers of a paleo plan have deemed it acceptable, and I do indulge occasionally. It's better for me to not keep it in stock, however.
My original, last-Christmas goal was three pounds more than my current weight. I'm carrying the extra 12 pounds (from my revised goal) around the middle. I'm not comfortable tucking a shirt into a pair of jeans. Maybe instead of a weight goal, I should aspire to wearing a belt.
Or maybe I should quit analyzing and continue to feel good about how far I've come.
Satisfaction: What a concept.