Neil Armstrong, Halfway There

Today is one of those big days for me.

You know the ones I mean.

This is one of those days when something monumental has happened.  I’m not talking about getting a package you’ve been waiting on, or your favorite show is back on the air after a long hiatus. I’m talking about one of those days that’s going to stick with you for the rest of your life because it represents something huge and noteworthy in your personal story.

This morning, I stepped on the scale and it read 350.

As of this morning, I have lost 125 pounds from my highest weight.

As of this morning, I am now halfway to my goal weight of 225.

I was so thrilled when I saw the scale settle exactly on 350.0, because I knew this was going to be a great day. I told H and I did the truffle shuffle all over the kitchen out of giddy, stompy joy.  It’s been so long, and I’m getting so tired.. but I’m halfway there.  I know it’s going to get hard now, and it’s going to test me SO MUCH more than it has already before it’s over…

… but I’m halfway there.

I came to work, bouncing in my shoes, itching to share my good news. I practically ran to the offices when I heard the voice of one of my friends in the hallway so I could tell her the news.

She couldn’t have cared less.

No one cared, actually. People are sick of hearing about it. I tried to tell coworkers and based on their reactions, I shut the door to my office and buried myself in work.

I was hurt. My god, I was hurt.

I know the world isn’t all about me. I know I’m not the center. But I just wanted my friends and coworkers to share in My Day. This is like a graduation, or closing on your home, or any number of huge adult achievements we all share from time to time. We share those experiences with our friends so they can leap for joy with us.

Here’s the kicker.  They’re sick of hearing about it.  I agree with them.  I’m sick of it too. I’m tired of the journey. I’m tired of putting my head down and forcing out another 10 pounds; another 10 minutes on the elliptical, another 10 miles on the bike.

Neil Armstrong  was the first human to set foot on the moon.

When he got there and took that first step, his journey was only halfway over… just like mine. Like me, I’ll bet he was tired, scared, euphoric, and dying for someone to share the experience with.

The hardest part of the journey was over; now it was time to take in the view and pause for some reflection. He still had to get home alive, but at that moment, I doubt he was worrying about that very much. 
I don’t expect the world to celebrate my accomplishment like it did his, but I’m not going to let the fact that the world doesn’t give a damn about one fat man’s halfway point diminish my sense of accomplishment at what I’ve managed to do, because I didn’t do it for the world.

I did it for H4rpy, and I did it for me.

To my friends who know and DO care: I love you. I really do, and you know it.

To my friends who don’t care: I’m not stopping. I get that it’s an uncomfortable subject, and I will stop talking about it with you, because I DO respect you and I love you as well. I’m just sad that you’re not coming with me anymore.

I’m sad I’m going to have to leave some people behind with the other 125 pounds of junk weight as I blast off from the moon and head home. There’s still danger and my mission can still fail, but in a way, the hardest part is over. Even if I crash and burn, I’ll still land.

I may not have walked on the moon, but for a little while today, I felt like I could have. I’m never going to let myself forget that feeling.

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Motivation, Will, and a Little NSV

I’m coming up on one of my milestone goals.
I arbitrarily set them every 25lbs, so I’d have 10 “Milestones” on my total journey from 475 to 225. I’m getting close to 350, which is the halfway point. I guess that makes this a MILESTONE GOAL instead of a milestone goal.
I’d been told, have read, and heard many times that this is where things will start to get hard.  That’s accurate.  It IS starting to get hard. The aches and pains are becoming a little more pronounced at times. That nagging feeling in my lumbar nags a little louder than before. Some gym days are exercises in pure willpower to get dressed after work and go to the gym when I really don’t want to.
It’s not because I’m tired. I’m not.

It’s not because I’m hurting. I’ve dealt with pain for much of my life, I’m used to it and don’t let it dictate what I can and can’t do.
It’s worse.
It’s because… it’s working. I know that doesn’t make sense.. let me try to explain.
When I started work at my current job two and a half years ago, I bought some new clothes. I had worked in an industrial office environment and now was working in a more formal office environment. I bought slacks, shoes, shirts.. you name it.  The shirts were 4XLT (4x Extra Large, Tall) shirts. I’m NOT tall but I needed the extra length so the shirt was long enough to tuck into my pants after making the Magellanic circumnavigation around my enormous gut.
They’re great shirts- they were priced well, look good, and have held up to daily use for 30+ months.
… but they don’t fit anymore. I’ve lost almost 125 pounds since I bought them, and they fit me like a 55 gallon Hefty garbage bag fits a kitchen trash can. So at H4rpy’s prodding, I bought a pair of new shirts.  I had been waiting, because I wanted to get two sizes down- I didn’t want to spend a bunch of money on 3x shirts that hopefully won’t fit for more than a few months.
But 2X? The last time I wore 2X shirts, I was in pretty good shape from a muscular standpoint, I was 26 years old instead of 36, and I weighed 260 instead of 360. “There’s no way,” I thought.
 H4rpy insisted I should get them, because if they don’t fit perfectly now, they will soon, and I’ll get years of use out of them. She was quite right, so I ordered two shirts to test.
They fit.
I don’t mean I could squeeze into them and they’re strained. I mean they fit. They fit properly.
I weigh 360 pounds and have a gut the size of the Death Star, but I’ve managed to burn off enough fat and add enough muscle to my body that I fit into a 2XL (note: NOT a 2XL Tall- just plain old 2XL) shirt and have it look right.

Do you know what this means? 

I can go clothes shopping in normal stores again.

 This is a huge victory. This is one of those life moments where it all starts to pay off, and you see the results becoming real for the first time.
It’s the perfect time for the voice of Self Sabotage to speak up from the shadows of my psyche, needling me just when I’m feeling good, when I’m at my most vulnerable, when I think I really CAN do this, reminding me that I really SHOUDLN’T feel good.

“You’ve made it, big guy… so take it easy! Slow down, you’ve beaten me.. I yield! You don’t need to keep doing this to yourself! Take a day off, rest a bit.. hell, have a treat! You know you’ve earned it, right?”

 My response is thus:

&@#% the voice in my head, and !#@% 2XL shirts.

I’m done when I say I’m done, not when my insecurities tell me “It’s Good Enough.”
The voice in my head can piss off, because I’ve got lifting to do and miles to ride before this is over, and I’m the one who decides when the train stops.
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