First, Yes, Michelle, it's all from the book and here is some more. Remember these are my underlinings as I read it in my Kindle.
I always overate when I was given big servings.
Surprisingly, I didn't miss candy and chips and cookies that much. Once I stopped eating them I stopped craving them.
This wasn't a "diet", it was a "lifestyle change." I didn't even know what the word "diet" meant anymore Being on a diet implies that you eventually will go off the diet. I had decided not to do anything that I was not prepared to do for the rest of my life.
I was regulating my diet of food for the day, but I would never be able to stop without gaining back the weight. I wanted to lose the weight only once. I didn't want to be a dieting Sisyphus, burning calories rolling a gigantic donut up a hill only to eat it at the top, repeating the same task eternally.
I was doing a lot of things I didn't particularly want to do. I suppose that might be the definition of discipline.
I had to override my desire to do what I wanted in the short term to get what I wanted in the long term.
There was a battle raging between two parts of myself, Current Me and Future Me. Current Me was gung-ho about losing weight, eating healthy, and eschewing the elevator in favor of the stairs. Future Me would think about how close the convenience store was and how easy it would be to buy a bag of Reese's Pieces without anyone's knowing. I hated that bitch. Those two girls were locked in an endless boxing match with an infinite set of rounds.
Being perfect was way too exhausting. I'd had my ice cream. I'd enjoyed it. My perfect dieting streak was broken. Now I'd just get back on track and make sure this didn't become a habit.
I still resented the fact that I had to bother with any of this. I'd never dieted because I wanted eating to be simple. This was complicated. I felt ridiculous counting out exactly thirty pistachios for my mid-afternoon snack. If I counted out twenty-nine by mistake, was I going to chewing on the plastic bag in ravenous hunger before lunch? If I counted out thirty-one was I doomed to a life of obesity? I wished I could instinctively eat whatever I wanted without worrying, but the last time I'd done that I'd gained 200 pounds.
You wouldn't care about what other people think of you if you knew how infrequently they do.
I had an amazing ability to rationalize things I knew I shouldn't be doing.
If I had been prepared enough to bring breakfast, or if I'd had time before work to buy something to eat, I would never have gone to the vending machine in the first place. It was a chain reaction that started in the morning when I skipped breakfast and ended with a three-car pileup in front of the vending machine. The only real crash was the very real sugar crash I experienced an hour later.
I decided I wouldn't bring any food into the house unless I was prepared to eat it.
Or I could attempt to accept the fact that it was okay to feel alone or sad sometimes and that I didn't need to bury my face in a bowl of pudding to suffocate the feelings.
Each time I told myself I wouldn't eat the whole thing, and then I'd do it anyway.
Normally my eating habits were similar to the action of the conveyor belt in the checkout line of the grocery store.
Focusing on the 5 percent that I screwed up was like getting upset that I didn't have a perfect SAT score. I couldn't change the past, and I didn't live in the future. I could control only the here and now.
I wasn't a 100 percent perfect dieter. No one was. If I fell out of bed, I wouldn't call myself a failure at sleeping.
My life had been spent trying not to think about my fat, part of my unsuccessful life philosophy that if you ignored something it would go away.
It was practically impossible to lose weight every single week. There was no reason to get hysterical about it.
It was important for them to know that you could win the war and still lose some battles.
I felt in control of my transformation.
One reason I wanted to lose weight was because I did care about my looks and I did care about what people thought. I wanted to be above all that shallow nonsense. But I wasn't immune to looks discrimination myself.
There is no secret. Weight loss was a personal decision requiring a lot of commitment and work, as serious as deciding to get married or moving to another city for a new job.
Our world was making it easier to become a fat person. If you didn't actively adjust your environment and habits to account for that, you could end up getting fat, no deep-seated psychological issues with food required.
Keeping it off was far more difficult that losing it.
Disadvantages weren't an excuse, just an explanation. "Because it's hard" wasn't a good reason not to at least try to do something. It was important to pave the path of least resistance, to make it as easy as possible for you to live a healthy lifestyle.
People waited for motivation to find them, but they needed to go out and find motivation.
Permanent probation. I'll be making weekly check-ins with my parole officer forever. His office is my bathroom floor and his face displays three numbers.
I don't think I'm going to get fat again, but who ever plans to gain back the weight?
I haven't been cured of obesity, I'm just in remission. There is no fat vaccine.