There is a theory which states that if ever anybody discovers exactly what the Universe is for and why it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. There is another theory which states that this has already happened.
- Douglas Adams
Since January, I have lost a total of 42 pounds. I just... you know, had to mention that.
My weigh in, I was down 2.4 pounds. (Of course, just because it's not a race and all, I had a great week... and Thomas had a greater one. He's like .4 pounds away from his 50 pound star. Sigh.)
"It's not a contest, hon," Thomas says.
"Of course it's not," I retort. "That's because you're winning."
"If it'll make you feel better, I'll go out and eat two Big Macs this week."
"Oh, don't do that," I said. "Then you'll just lose 8 pounds and I'll have to kill you."
He passed his second 10% marker this week, too... I passed mine back in the beginning of July. The weight I'm shooting for now is 161 (with some special celebration at 169, where I officially stop being "obese"). Thomas is... maybe another 25-30 pounds from reaching his goal. I'm... not even halfway.
This gets a bit depressing sometimes.
You know, back in the beginning of this weight loss thing, I thought I was being all cool about the idea that Thomas would probably have an easier time of things than I did, that he would lose more weight, and that faster...
But it didn't happen that way. For quite a long time, I was either even with him, or just a little ahead of him. Even then, I knew he'd reach goal before me, having less weight to lose than I did... and I'm just not as sanguine about that as I'd like to be. I think the core of what bothers me about this is that he's NOT working at this at all. His habits haven't changed in the slightest. He eats what I put in front of him. I make his lunch for him, and that's what he eats. When we eat out, we tend to select slightly less bad for us restaurants (Red Robin, for instance, is Right Out!) but he still tends to eat the same kind of food. He usually gets ribs... baked potato instead of mashed or fries, and he usually eats his broccoli.
That's pretty much it. I'm the one who knows most point values off the top of my head; knows if something is Core or not, does all the menu and food planning, writes up the grocery list, does the entirety of the cooking, planned out our exercise program (if you can call walking 6.6 miles in a week a "plan") and generally gives us an active "event" on the weekends.
And I know - I know, mind you - that he would not be functioning this well on his own. Given his own lead, Thomas would mostly be eating take-out. Or not at all. He'd certainly never be able to do Core on his own; he can't cook worth a damn. Hello Smart Ones. And to give him credit, he knows it, too. He's more than happy to shower me with the accomplishments of our family; that we're eating better, getting healthier and more fit, and it's almost entirely my doing.
"You know what your problem is, hon?" He asks me last night, after I'd had a bit of a rant about some stuff that was bothering me. (The biggest one being that I was feeling bad about myself for throwing out half of my ice-cream the other night. The reason I was feeling bad about this was that I couldn't decide if I threw it out because I really didn't want it anymore, or if I threw it out to prove that I could. Thomas, in typical guy fashion, wondered what difference it made; if I didn't eat the calories, I didn't eat them, and my fat cells have no idea about and no interest in, my moral dilemmas.)
"I only have one? This is an improvement."
"You don't own your own achievements. You are entitled to feel good about your weight loss. You are entitled to be proud of that. It's all right."
"Thanks so much for your permission." Sarcasm, luckily, does not get the sheets wet when it pools all over the place like that.
"It's not my permission you need, sweetheart, but your own."