Chronicles of a Late Bloomer

Several astute friends and commenters have tried to help me through this sudden onset of slump. After rocking the scale for so many months, I seem to have derailed a little bit. Is it a coincidence that this crash occured right after I achieved several major goals?

In the past few weeks, I have lost enough weight to be able to claim, proudly, that “I’ve lost over 50 pounds” and “I weigh less than 300.” Both of these claims are more grand and more notable than I’ve ever been able to make before. Some have postulated (wisely) that perhaps I’m experiencing a post-goal let-down. You hear about brides who experience a sense of loss after their wedding day — so much energy, time, and stress has been spent getting ready for the event, and what kind of wedded bliss could possibly rise up to take its place? New mothers often suffer from post-partum depression. There are many instances that could be cited to describe the bitter-sweet and mixed emotions that sometimes accompany the achievement of a long-term and otherwise-happy goal.

And, I’m not immune to that, I don’t think. I worked hard to lose that first 50 pounds. How many hours were spent shopping, preparing meals, and increasing my exercise? Was it fun to cart my lunch to work and my empty dishes back home? And, when I had a financial crisis, I could easily have become a super-couponer and bought highly processed and additive-rich foods on the cheap, but I didn’t. I ate through my freezer full of healthier alternatives, begged and borrowed for fresh fruits and vegetables, and subsisted on free (but high quality) meals at functions, parties, and generous friends’ homes.

I weathered a sad and painful (though, thankfully, not ugly or hurtful) breakup and I did it without resorting to ice cream, for the most part. I re-joined Weight Watchers and shopped around for a leader whose wisdom and word-o-philia are helping me to change some of my mindsets. I’ve suffered for months with pants and shirts which are sizes and sizes too large.

No, losing the first 50 pounds has certainly not been easy.

But, therein lies the rub. Can you spot the word that’s causing me the most grief? I think I can — it’s “first.” I think the mini-depression I’m experiencing is distantly related to goal-letdown. I think it’s sort of like a second cousin to goal-letdown. Maybe we call it goal-fatigue.

Losing 50 pounds has been a dramatic experience for me. It’s been wonderful and exhilarating and totally rock-and-roll. However, in order to achieve my ultimate and long-term goal of BMI normalcy, I’ll have to lose 50 pounds approximately three and a half times. In spite of my achievements, I really am just getting started on this journey. The after-photos on weight loss commercials proudly proclaim “I’ve lost 50 pounds!” because they are finished. 50 pounds, for most people, would be enough. For me, it’s the first in a series of stepping stones that, for one reason or another, feel sort of insignificant right now.

Sure, people who’ve known me for longer than a year are beginning to notice a change in my physical appearance. Coworkers and clients have remarked on my baggy pants and slimmed-down sillhouette. However, new acquaintances, business colleagues, and even potential dates still experience me as very, very fat. They don’t know just how hard I have worked. They don’t know how much smaller I am today than I used to be. When I meet new people in these situations, it’s all I can do to restrain myself from saying, “I’m Mal, and I used to be a lot fatter. I’m working on it, I swear!” I still can’t change my body distinction on my match.com profile, or bump into the next tier of perceived attractiveness for potential dates.

I’m having to adjust my expectations of what it means, for me personally, to have lost 50 pounds. In reality, none of my bulging lumps, bumps, or rolls have gone away. They have become smaller versions of themselves, yes, but they retain their same basic shapes and forms. Close friends who have lived with me through this journey so far have taken to addressing me affectionately. “Hey, Skinny,” they’ll say into my answering machine, or with a clap on the back. “Skinni-ER,” I correct them. I’m not anywhere near thin yet. Just thinn-ER. They remark that my hips are narrow-ER, that my arms are slimm-ER, and that my stomach is flatt-ER. Not narrow, slim, or flat. Just -ER. I have -ER overload.

And, I guess that’s the let-down that I’m experiencing now. 50 pounds seems like such a gargantuan amount to have lost, but it’s just the tip of the iceburg for me. Looking forward feels a bit overwhelming, and major financial and health concerns have only added to that strain.

How can I possibly maintain the focus and energy required to lose 170 pounds, when losing 50 pounds took so much? I feel a little tired, I guess, and I don’t know what to do now. Will I always be an -ER? Is it best to accept that being skinni-ER is achievement enough? How do you combat -ER fatigue?