Starting
Weight:
|
238.6
|
Original Target*:
|
255.8
|
Adjusted Target:
|
236.8
|
Actual Weight:
|
239.0
|
Loss/Gain:
|
+
0.4
|
Total Loss:
|
63.6
|
% of Goal:
|
45.9%
|
Avg. Loss/Wk.:
|
–
2.4
|
*Original target calculated from a
starting weight of 302.6 lbs. and an average loss/wk. of 1.8 lbs.
|
|
And yesterday was the end of the plan month, so here are
those numbers:
Starting
Weight:
|
247.0
|
Target Weight:
|
239.0
|
Actual Weight:
|
239.2
|
Loss/Gain:
|
–
7.8
|
Avg. Loss/Wk.:
|
– 1.8
|
In six
months, 26 weeks, I’ve lost 63.6 pounds, a little under 46% of my surplus
weight. It’s quite an accomplishment. I should be happy.
In the next room, as I write this, my mother is dying.
My sister arrived last night. This morning and afternoon, we’re
doing various things to prepare for the arrival of two of our uncles and an
aunt. Perhaps other relatives will come after the end; everything is still pretty
fluid. Meanwhile, the woman who gave me life, who’s responsible for so much of
my personality (both my strengths and weaknesses), around the care of whom I
built the last five years of my life, remains quiet, simply breathing in and
out as she detaches from this world in preparation for the next.
But at least one part of her story belongs on this site: For
many years, Mom struggled with obesity as well. She never got to my point,
though I believe she was about 60 lbs. overweight for most if not all my
childhood. But Mom was clinically obese until around 1984-85 when she took up
tap-dancing at the urging of a good friend who taught dance. From that point
on, she maintained a healthy weight, even after arthritis and hip replacements
ended her dancing.
Yesterday, I was driving home from 4:00pm Sunday Mass when
it occurred to me that all I’d had up to that point was most of a 15-oz. mug of
coffee with cream. When I got home and my brother and I discussed dinner plans—Ted
planned to stop at Five Guys’ while running an errand—I said, “Don’t even worry
about the calories; I’ve got most of my budget still available.” Then, as I was
doing some things around the house, I thought briefly of setting the
weight-loss program on the back burner. At times like this, you starve yourself
out of absent-mindedness half the time and gorge yourself silly the other half.
As well, we’re an Irish family; the alcohol will come out at some point.
But as I considered it, I thought of the many times over the
last six months that my mother has said how much better I was looking and how
proud she was that I was doing so well. And I can’t do it—I can’t just set the
program aside, not even for one week. She would want me to keep plugging away,
even through the sorrow that must eventually come. Food doesn’t love. Food
doesn’t comfort. Part of this exercise is learning to take comfort and find
satisfaction in ways other than by stuffing my belly. That includes when I lose
the people I love.
I can’t promise there will be an update next week. The last
act could be hours away, or it could be days away. And if our experience with
my younger brother’s passing is any guide, it will probably be several days after
Mom’s death before the coroner releases her body for (ugh) “final disposal.”
And, after everyone else has gone home, I’ll have to find a way to get back on
my own feet and build a new life not based on caring for someone who’s ill.
But when I started writing this post, purely on a whim, I
had Alexa put on “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Dah” by The Beatles. Life will go on.
I’ll grieve; I’ll miss Mom for the rest of my own life, just as I miss Dad,
Bob, my two uncles Jim, my aunt Pat, and my grandmothers (I never really knew
my grandfathers). However, I don’t think God’s done with me yet. There are
still things to do, to see, and to say. And there’s still 75 pounds left to
lose.
So if I’m not back next Monday, look for me the Monday after
that.
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