Losing weight is a bitch. I’m in the middle of it as I write this.
I started at 228. I’m now at 217. The goal is 190. That’s 27 pounds to go. At about a pound a week, that’s another 27 weeks. Seems far off, especially for someone like me who has no patience, too much urgency, and a need for instant gratification.
But something clicked this morning.
I’m only five pounds away.
Five pounds from getting back up to 222, or five pounds from getting down to 212. Both are close, but there’s a ten-pound gap between those two outcomes.
That hits a little different. The thought of gaining five pounds pisses me off. Knowing I’d be ten pounds heavier than if I lost five instead pisses me off even more. That’s motivation.
Five pounds feels manageable. I don’t have to wait until 190 to feel like I’ve accomplished something. Getting to 212 is a win. Then 207. Then 202.
Thinking about it like this makes me want to stay on track.
And it’s not just weight. Any big goal works this way. A number I want to hit for work, a skill I want to learn or improve on. The finish line can feel so far away that sometimes can feel discouraging. But remembering that I’m always just a few steps away from moving closer or sliding back helps put things into perspective.