For those who haven't heard yet: I was very ill and am now on the road to recovery, which also means that I want to, or rather need to, lose a total of around 40 kg of weight. And now, after losing the first 20 kg (in German, we say “Bergfest” when you've reached half of your goal), everyone says, “Wow, that's great!” or “Respect, what an achievement!” Okay, yes, thank you.
20 kg between then and now
But it's like everything else in life: you get used to it — to your own steady success and to the praise of others. And then you become ungrateful. Routine creeps in, you become careless and less disciplined.
The next big goal, the “UHu” (Unter Hundert = below one hundred), climbed a very tall tree four weeks ago and is laughing at me from high above. It's giving me the finger with a dirty smile. Only tiny movements in weight loss and somehow boredom with exercise. I rage and rant down here and throw treats to my inner bastard.
The only sensible measure: back to the beginning, where everything was still done very correctly and with discipline. Just like when I started: strict diet, no salt, three liters of water a day, no carbohydrates. Exercise every day, Mon, Wed, Fri gym, Tue, Thu, Sat running. And you ask yourself again whether it will be like this forever, no more easy going, no more letting go.
At this point, the halfway point doesn't feel like a celebration at all; it's more like someone has secretly increased the incline.
If I catch him.