Dieting equals deprivation. Try a new approach to get motivated.
Since I have begun my expedition of making healthy lifestyle choices versus frantic all-consuming dieting, I have lost 4 lbs. During my time spent on “The Biggest Loser” I lost 14 lbs the first week. When I have done Weight Watchers repeatedly in the past I usually lose something around 7 lbs the first week. Comparatively speaking this may look like an epic failure or sheer laziness, while on the contrary my body may be moving at a much slower pace this time around but my mind feels a lot less like an anorexic trapped inside a bread factory.
The number on the scale may say one thing, but here are the non-number accomplishments:
I have worked out more in the last three weeks than I have in the last six months and honestly, I have enjoyed almost every minute. Except for Tabata Fusion, a class I tried at my gym that mirrors the Insanity workouts, with twenty seconds on and ten seconds rest for an hour. During the whole workout all I could do was mutter f**k repeatedly under my breath (I turn into a bit of a filthy sailor when I am pushed to my workout threshold) and hold down the urge to flee. The next three days I had to leverage myself down with the counter in order to use the bathroom, or throw myself into my car sideways because I couldn’t bend my legs.
The dessert was so perfect in my mind that the next day when my boyfriend bought me home a chocolate treat for dessert, I took a bite to find I didn’t really care for it. I chose not to eat it as I didn’t feel like wasting the calories on something I wasn’t all that impressed with. It is still sitting in the fridge not even tempting me one iota. Are the implications settling in here? There is a chocolate cheesecake sort-of-thing sitting in my fridge that I have not devoured for a full day.
So I’ve only lost 4 lbs, but the difference is this: Diets to me have always spelled deprivation and the moment I feel deprived is the moment I want to rebel and wreak havoc on some poor unsuspecting bakery. When I tell myself that I am indeed allowed to bake a decadent espresso cake a la Martha Stewart and eat it too, then I don’t feel guilty, I feel like I am embracing love. My love of great food, my love of creating something wonderful in the kitchen, my love of sharing that with others. And this includes my workouts. When I am kind to myself and keep focusing on the fact that my body still can do tremendous things, because it is strong and capable, even if it is re-learning, then I feel great about what I am giving my attention to instead of bleak and miserable about having to go to the gym or eat broccoli. I hate broccoli. Why would I force myself to eat it if I do not like it one bit?
Moral of the story: There are many more accomplishments to be had than the numbers flashing on a scale.