I tried not to, but my willpower proved weak; I saw a scale at my parent’s house and I stepped on it.
Imagine my surprise: I have lost 20 pounds since April 3rd. That’s less than two months. Something is definitely working.
Putting that number into my fitness tracker was a very grand moment for me.
Anyways, that’s the only thing that motivated me and pushed me out the door this evening; I absolutely, vehemently, and completely did not want to take a 3 mile ride tonight. I ate a bit much today, I had a beer, it was a holiday, and I just didn’t feel up to it.
Then I remembered; every single night, no matter how badly I’ve avoided it, I’ve gone out and exercised. That, and that alone, is how I lost 20lbs in 2 months. By consistent and strenuous effort.
People have been asking me today: How did you do it? What method did you use? What diet are you on? What program?
This is my method: I hate exercising, I hate the pain, I hate the way it feels, I hate how much time it takes, I hate almost everything about it. I don’t care, though; I HAVE to do this. I have no choice, I have to get out there and just get it done. Everything else stems from that. Once I realize that I have busted my ass, physically, to get results, everything else falls into place. It helps me avoid the cookies, or the donut, or the bacon with my eggs. I say “Man, if I eat these cookies, it will have made my workout worthless.” and I suffered for that workout. Is it worth a cookie? No.
Not only did I finally drag my ass out the door tonight and get on that bike, I beat yesterday’s ride by 30 seconds/mile (pace) and went almost a quarter mile further. I did that in 10 seconds less than yesterday. Even small progress is progress, no?