Found And Lost in 2021

 (Canopee - Polo & Pan)

"I hate not being able to shake your hand," I said flatly.  "I know," my bariatric physician replied from across the room, nodding her head in sympathy.  Neither of us said any more about it after that.  We both knew why.

Silence filled the room for a moment. "What do you think went wrong?" she asked when the moment had passed.  A wave of irritation swept over me and I had an instant's gratefulness that I was wearing a mask so she couldn't see the look on my face.  Then I sighed, realizing that she could probably see it plainly in my eyes. I closed them, shuttering myself from the exam room's light for one blissful moment before opening them and murmuring, "I have no idea.  I followed the rules."  Something very hot cut through me then and I suddenly felt broken-hearted, a child that didn't understand why something bad had happened. I clenched my jaw to keep my voice level. "I did everything I was supposed to do.  I followed the rules."  

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I was sitting strongly at 380 pounds before Thanksgiving.  The general consensus when I left the Bariatric center that early November morning was that I really didn't need to come back and see my specialists until the holidays were over.  My progress had been smooth, steady, and unbroken. I was working out more than ever before and I'd even introduced a new outdoor hobby to my health regimen that saw me baking off record levels of calories.

To further bolster my confidence, I had the previous year's holiday season and my steady weight loss through it to grant me confidence.  I did it before, I could do it again.  My stomach had continued to shrink in size, my palette had changed enough that I no longer had any desire to binge on food like I used to... what could possibly go wrong? 

Two months' worth of time, a half a pound a day, I should be well into the low 370s by the time January 15th arrived.  If I was ambitious with my activity and my calories, perhaps even lower!

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The middle of January 2021 saw a definitive answer to a very foolishly asked question.  My therapist was talking to me about something but all I could think about was the scale.  I had barreled into the office a few minutes early, exchanged pleasantries with the receptionist and all but leapt up onto the scale.

390.

"I need more data," I said suddenly.  I looked away from the picture on the wall, focusing on my therapist.  He blinked once at me in response and then waited.  We'd both played this game enough by now that we knew the rules of engagement where conversation was concerned. "I've been operating off of a limited data set.  I see you guys once every month, once every two months, and there's all this time in between where things could be happening and I'm not seeing it in time to stop it."

My therapist took a deep breath and held it for a moment before slowly exhaling. "That's one possible explanation, yes." he said after a time. "Another one is that, in spite of your insane and unfaltering progress over the last year and a half, we are still operating in the unknown where your body is concerned and that maybe you should just stay the course and see what comes."

We both knew how likely what would be to happen.

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We agreed that I should come back in a month and that, if I'd failed to lose any weight in that time, we could investigate additional measures.  

...Well, when I say 'We' agreed...

 My doctors begged me to give it more time. I promptly ignored them, went home, and bought a device that would allow me to measure a number of biometric data points, only one of which was my weight.

This, as it turns out, ended up being an absolute Godsend for two really big reasons.  The first was that I now have access to enough data points that I could start building models for what constituted 'normal' behavior for my body.  For me, this was huge.  The second reason closely dovetailed the first in that having a better understanding of what 'normal' was meant that I wasn't 'broken' anymore.  Yes, the circumstances of my weight loss hadn't really changed.  Yes, I was still losing weight MUCH more slowly than I should be according to the numbers.  The data somehow...made that okay though.

After that day, I also went back to counting calories.  Not as religiously as I had back when this all started, but enough to confirm that, yes, I was still well within the limits I'd set for myself, especially with exercise.  And exercise I did.  

February's visit yielded the smallest weight loss that I'd ever seen.  It was a small relief in that I was at least stable, but weighing in at 387 could have been the fault of a good bowel movement rather than any actual progress.  Still, my specialists felt this was a good sign and suggested I stay the course for two months and return to them in April.

Two months.

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As soon as the weather was even remotely tolerable, I started getting outside more to indulge in that new hobby of mine:

Disc golf.

My love of the sport started off as an excuse to go walk more.  I knew that my brother was playing it pretty regularly and walking the courses could rack up as much as three miles depending on how it all went -- sometimes more if you lost a disc and spent a lot of time looking for it.  It got me outdoors, I got to spend time with my brother, what wasn't to like? There was the business of making the thing go into the basket and the Pavlovian response of happiness that resulted, which was nice too.

My brother and wife had conspired to buy me my own discs and bag for Christmas.  By the time the middle of February rolled around, I was ringing my brother up whenever I could and meeting him for 18 holes.  At first, I could only play with him as a companion.  I was still trying to get the hang of where the discs went after I threw them and would have lost a fortune in plastic if he hadn't always been watching where they came down for me.  In time, I learned to track them with far greater accuracy.  By the time April arrived, I was competent enough at both throwing discs and tracking them that I felt comfortable going out and playing on my own.  

Which meant I could go whenever I wanted.  Mwaha. Hahaha.

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My data suggested that my weight loss was more akin to a bouncy ball rather than a ball simply rolling down a hill.  I would lose weight, then over the course of a week, I would gain much of it back...and then I'd drop again, ending up just a tiny bit lower than the last 'Low'.  Then it would go back up.  Some weeks, I wouldn't actually get lower, but those weeks were almost always followed by less total gain...followed by a tiny bit more progress.  I could begin anticipating when my 'bounces' were going to happen and could now see corrollaries between days when I'd been seriously active, growth in muscle mass, retention of water...and lack of weight loss.  Then the body would equalize, fat would slowly ebb, and the week's 'Low' would happen.

And I could see all of that thanks to glorious, delicious data.

Then April 15th arrived and it was time for me to go back to see my specialists.

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"Stop!"

I paused in the process of picking my belongings up, having just shed them onto a chair a few moments ago to step on the scale at the Bariatric center.  My therapist had somehow snuck up behind me while I was up there looking at the number and was apparently very concerned about something.

I looked to the left, to the right, and then back at him with a slowly raised eyebrow. "Well?" I asked.  When men with weapons didn't come pouring into the room a moment later, I resumed the reclamation of my stuff from the chair.

"I just...wanted to get to you before you got to the scale," he said, a little deflated.  "I watched you walk in today and I wanted to tell you that you looked noticeably more svelte, more trim!"  He walked up to me, stopping a respectful distance away.  "I know that the last visit was hard for you, especially with all of the work you've been doing."

I smiled under my mask -- this was still April, after all -- resisted the urge to pat him on the shoulder, and murmured, "Relax, doc.  I'm fine."  And I was.  More than fine, actually.  Between February 15th and April 15th, we'd been hoping for a total weight loss of four to five pounds, right around a half a pound a week.

I'd lost 15, and was sitting quite happily at 372.

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"I didn't think you wanted a scale in your house," my physician said slowly.  It was her turn to raise an eyebrow as we looked at each other in the exam room. I held up a hand. "First, let's be real here. What I bought is so much more than a scale. It tracks total body mass, muscle mass, fat mass, water content, bone mass, and it even tells me the weather outside which...I'm not sure why that's important in a bathroom scale, but it's kind of cool so it goes on the list."  I promptly dug into my bag, retrieving my tablet.  A few taps produced a summarized data set that I promptly held up for the doctor to see. "And it produces a medical report that I can show to my doctors."

My physician held very still for a moment before she somewhat hesitantly responded, "I don't really need to see that unless you want me to see it.  I trust you."  Don't make any sudden movements around the nerd.

Somewhat deflated, I put my toy away. "You can relax.  I know exactly what I brought into my house.  I know the risks."  I closed my bag up and looked back at her.  "I only check my data points once a week.  Looking at a day's data points in isolation doesn't paint the kind of picture that my most likely neurotic brain needs in order to stay calm."

She relaxed a tiny bit after that admission and a short time later our conversation turned towards the future. "You weighed in this morning at 377 pounds, which is awesome!  You're only two pounds away from your next milestone.  At the rate you're cooking, you'll have that done and sorted by dinner so..." She lifted her hands.  "What's next?"

I paused for a moment, running some numbers in my head. "Well, we're coming up on a full two years now.  Assuming I've been running my ass off and losing a pound a week, that's around 50 pounds a year, which means I'm within striking distance of losing a full 100 pounds by the end of summer."  I tilted my head a little. "It would be nice to say that I could get all the way down to 355 pounds by my birthday in August but given the little stunt that my body pulled over the winter, I'm trying to moderate my expectations a little."

"And it only took you two years," my physician deadpanned in response.

I waved a hand in the air humorously, dismissing her statement. "At two pounds a month, I think I'd be overjoyed to hit 365 by my birthday.  355 would be freakin' cool, but that would sort of ... take a lot."  My physician nodded in response. "I think that's a very reasonable goal.  Game on."

Heh.  She used the word 'reasonable'.

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With spring fully present, there wasn't much stopping me from going out and throwing discs whenever I wanted.  Throwing the front nine at a course would bake off a happy 700-800 calories.  Throwing a full 18 on my own would bake off twice that.  I was still playing Beat Saber with two friends as well, twice a week each.  Those workouts were tame in comparison, usually only cooking off around 450 to 500 calories a session.  Still, it was a great way to stay active on days when I wasn't out at a course, and working with friends added an extra layer of accountability to the whole deal.

May 27th arrived, and I weighed in at 365 pounds. By the end of June, I'd closed the number down to 357 pounds.

On July 8th, I weighed in at 354.9 pounds.  Almost two years to the day.

I have lost one hundred pounds.

If things keep going this way, and that's a big 'if', who knows where I'll be by my birthday in mid-august? 

My final milestone is 300 pounds.  That seems pretty easily -- perhaps 'reasonably' is a better word? -- achievable in the next year.  The numbers associated with my food consumption and activity level absolutely support that being a doable thing.  The numbers actually support it to much lower levels than that but that presumes my ability to continue losing weight at the rates I have been.  Sooner or later, my weight loss will plateau.  I'd be delighted if that were at 300 pounds.  I'd love it if it were lower. For now, I'd just really appreciate it if the rain would hold off until tomorrow at 10am.

I have an 8am tee time.