I get impatient. I want it to be later. I want to be smaller. I want to see huge differences in pictures, in the way my clothing fits, in what it feels like to move through the world in my body. I want it to be twenty pounds from now, thirty-five pounds from now, seventy pounds from now. (I long ago got accustomed to marking time in pounds.) I see the small differences now, but I want them to be orders of magnitude greater.
I'm traveling for a couple of weeks starting on Monday; I won't have access to a scale, so my daily weighing habit will be suspended temporarily. And tracking my food will be more challenging because it will involve more guesswork. That irritates me but might be interesting. Hopefully I come home below 282, which is the 50-pounds-lost mark. Ideally, even, below 280. I'm currently getting weights of 285-point-something, so that seems like a possibility.
In the absence of knowing, of food scales and regular scales and reliable tracking, there will only be the fundamental principles (eat protein, keep carbs low, drink water). That's hard for me, but in another way it's good practice. You just rack up the days, doing the stuff, putting one foot in front of the other. One day. Then the next day. Then the one after that. Protein, water, repeat.
It also helps that there is stuff to do on this trip—it's fun travel, yes, but it also has specific goals. People to see, work to do, tasks to accomplish, things to think about. I'm sure I'll have many delicious bites of food, but I won't be building my days around them, nor will there be any reason that I would.
The first couple of months were very hard for me. This is challenging, but that's different than hard. More and more, I feel like I'm learning the balance and the doggedness of this process. Finding my own plodding determination. Today. Then tomorrow. Twelve tomorrows and I'm home again, back to the routine. Three hundred tomorrows and a year has passed since surgery and I'm somewhere else entirely, but each day is much like the day before.