But as I noted many times, the closer you get to the end the tougher it gets. The ability to lose weight decreases exponentially when there's less of it to lose, or in mathematical terms, there is an asymptote as the limit on your presumed time of weight loss approaches infinity. In the case of weight loss, like drug addiction or a Rubik's cube, your job is never done, and you'll have to keep on working on it for the rest of your life no matter how close or comfortably settled in you are to that asymptote.
Now, I haven't opened a calculus textbook in 10 years, but the concept of a mathematical limit of a function has started to creep back into my consciousness, not because I suddenly feel as though I missed my calling as an astrophysicist, but because perhaps my body is reaching that asymptote. After all, my rate of weight-loss has declined steadily over the last two months or so and I've seemed almost terminally stuck between 175 and 182, struggling to get ever closer to the finish line while time continues to run low.
Just four days away from the end I have chipped away steadily, bit by bit, and I'm awfully close to getting there, but if I am for some reason unable to get through the last pound that stands in my way before this Saturday I'll have to wonder. It will be hard not to think about whether or not I should have had one fewer beer or if I shouldn't have consoled myself after the Blackhawks lost Game 3 of the Stanley Cup Final last night by munching on some black pepper kettle chips.
I will have to ask myself two unsettling questions. Did I fail? Was it possible for me not to fail?
After all, if there is an asymptote, it would have been impossible for me to get below a certain weight and still be healthy, and it's perfectly conceivable that maybe that weight was above the 175 I had targeted. Considering the slow going, over the last few days I've had to assess whether or not I set the bar too high. After all, if I had set it at 180, I wouldn't look noticeably different than I do now, I would have unquestionably accomplished my goal and I'd be munching on that oh-so-savory Quesarito right about now.
But is coming up just short really failure? Perhaps that should be the question being asked right now. After all, in the course of this process I've managed to change my lifestyle and appearance dramatically. I've significantly lowered my pizza and fried food consumption, I've gotten back into a steady workout routine, I've suddenly found I'm in need of a new belt and several new pairs of pants, I've gone from looking like this to looking like this and I feel so good about all of it that in six weeks I'm going to go climb a goddamn mountain.
This morning I stepped on the scale after a workout that left me more exhausted than usual. I have to assume this is the result of the beer I drank and little water I drank along with it last night, but I peered down and saw 175.8. This seemed strangely low. After all, the other day I actually got a reading of 174.4, but noticed when I shifted my weight the number bounced back up to 176.6. This happens often. I've noted more than once that scales are just a wee bit inconsistent.
So I stepped on it again. And again. And again. The same number inexplicably came back four times. It would seem that number just might be real, and if that's the case, I'm tasked with losing .8 pounds in four days, which surely I can do.
Even if I don't, though, I won't be beating myself up for it too much. Perhaps I've reached the asymptote, but few people can claim to do that when they do something like this. Even if I haven't hit a specific number it's hard to argue that losing as much weight as I did, this wasn't a success. But if you want to be a stickler, and I probably will be because it's in my nature, I guess coming up a hair short is a failure.
I should be so lucky to always fail like this.
CROWD-SOURCED WEIGHT LOSS PLAN DAY 206!
Days until sister's wedding: 4
Starting weight: 219
Target weight: 175
Weight today: 175.8
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