The Infamous Weight Loss Plateau

Stuck. That is where I am at the moment. Very stuck. Nine pounds into what will hopefully be a seventeen pound weight loss after having a baby four months ago. Nine pounds down and STOP.

Here’s the thing about weight loss plateaus… if you hit one, you know you’ve arrived somewhere. You’ve accomplished something. When you are in the process of losing weight, there are points along the way where your body wants to put on the brakes. It’s a signal that your metabolism, your muscles, and your mind need a chance to catch up and get accustomed to the new weight.

It is profoundly frustrating, but it should be seen as positive thing, a space for taking stock, recognizing the new body for what it is… a huge accomplishment. It may not be the body you are ultimately striving for, but it is different enough from what you were maintaining before that it demands a moment to catch up. Your body is telling you something. It is saying, “Hold on a second! This is not normal. What does this weight loss mean? Am I starving?? Do I need to protect myself and hang onto the weight that is left?”

The key here is to stay focused and refuse to give up

The first week of a new weight loss plan is usually pretty successful. Dietary changes are consistent and exercises are new and challenging. You are sore. You might drop several pounds of water weight because you aren’t taking in as much sugar and salt. The scale proudly reports that you have lost three pounds in one week, and you feel like you will be able to do that forever.

Week two is a slap in the face. It is often the first mini-plateau. You’ve lost the water weight, and your metabolism is carefully adjusting to the new calorie intake and expenditure. You haven’t built up enough muscle mass to make you feel tight and fit yet or to help you burn more calories during the day. The dietary changes slip once or twice. It’s week two, and it is almost always a disaster. You might lose nothing. You might lose half a pound. You might gain a pound. Anyway, it feels like a failure.

Week two is a maintenance week and should be dedicated to maintaining your behavioral changes, not worrying about the results on the scale. This is the first of several plateaus you will likely face along the way. If you can just keep your head down and keep doing what worked so well the first week, you will keep losing. It might come off slowly, but that truly is the best way to go. Slow weight loss is much more likely to be permanent… and that, inevitably, includes plateaus.

As I wait here, stuck, it is my job to quietly, peacefully reassure my body that I have enough energy to function healthfully and that it is okay to let go of a little bit more extra poundage. In order to do that, I will have to keep up the workout routine and stick to the dietary changes I have made. I should NOT suddenly cut another 500 calories out of my diet or start spending six hours at the gym every day. I want to let my body know that this is a change I can maintain and that it will feel good in the end. Do not panic. Stay calm.

If after a few weeks I am still stuck, I may need to make some subtle changes to what I am doing. I might add some high intensity intervals to my cardio routine or investigate my diet to see if there is a food or a habit I’ve been ignoring that could make a difference.

I need to treat my body and mind like they have just been through a divorce because, in fact, they have just divorced themselves of 8 pounds they were accustomed to carrying around. I need to help them understand that this new unencumbered, lighter life is a huge step forward, not something scary to be resisted.

A plateau demands patience. You can’t rush genius after all, and if you’ve lost five pounds toward a fifteen pound goal or two pounds toward a fifty pound goal, that’s exactly what you are, a weight loss genius. It is incredibly tough to lose weight. You will get stuck, but keep moving forward. Don’t talk yourself out of it. Keep your eye on the prize, and don’t waver.

These last eight pounds I have to lose are pounds I was carrying before I got pregnant. It is the weight I swore I would drop before having a baby but never did. After walking around bloated and bulbous for nine months (and a few months after that), I’m tired of being squishy. I know where I want my weight to be, and I’ve never been so motivated to get there.

I’m at a plateau. My body is telling me, “This is where you were when you got pregnant. Let’s stop right here in the comfort zone.” But that’s not good enough anymore. I need to let my body rest here for a week or two and then give it a kick start to let it know I can be better, stronger, and lighter.

I’m not taking no for an answer.

East Nashville and a Pittie Named Elvin

My article for HER this month, April 2012, their neighborhood issue... East Nashville and a Pittie Named Elvin

I knew I loved East Nashville for its sidewalks, ripe with block parties and chance meetings. I knew I loved it for the constant flow of young couples with strollers and countless dog walkers, beautiful people with beautiful puppies. I loved that I could step out my front door every day with my goofy, kind-hearted pitbull, Elvin, his butt wiggling gleefully as he surged out into the world, and we could walk for miles discovering new scents and new sidewalks, making friends along the way. We stopped regularly to say hello to the adorable black and white pittie on 12^th and Forrest, the firefighters hanging out in front of the historic firehouse on 16^th and Holly, and the ducks swimming at Shelby Park.

I knew I loved East Nashville, but I had no idea how much East Nashville loved me back.

On the night of October 7^, 2011, my husband, Ken, Elvin and I went out on what would be our last walk together, tracing the sidewalks from 5 Points to the park. I didn’t know that night would be the last time I would tuck Elvin into bed and lay my head down next to his, listening to him breathe and drifting off to the train whistles in the distance. If I had known, I would have kept right on walking, in the hope that I could fend off the sun at daybreak.

The following afternoon I was sitting in our guest room, sorting through some paperwork. I called Ken over so we could stare lovingly at our Elvin through the window overlooking the back yard. We watched him circle, around and around, in search of the perfect spot to land, and when he found his resting place, my heart swelled. I turned back to my work and never saw him again. He disappeared from our backyard that afternoon, made an appearance at Beyond the Edge, a bar up the street, and then vanished into thin air.

Ken and I lost our minds. We thought the rest of the world might think we were nuts for the depth of pain and loss we were feeling and the lengths we were willing to go to get him back. We were wrong. Before nightfall, we had an army of people looking for him, hitting the streets and posting flyers all over the neighborhood. I was beside myself, trying to manage a growing sense of dread, when I looked around and realized that our living room had filled with friends, acquaintances, and perfect strangers - kind, selfless, animal-loving strangers - ready to help us implement a fully developed action plan to find our boy.

When a stray dog is seen wandering the streets of East Nashville, he or she is generally picked up by a random dog-loving citizen and reported to East C.A.N., Camp Chaos, Dogs Deserve Better, or Labor of Love. Within hours, information is disseminated through social networks and on the East Nashville listserv. The dog is returned to his or her owners, and a happy ending ensues. If an owner can’t be found, there are dozens of foster families who love and care for the dogs until forever homes can be found. It is the puppy-power underworld of East Nashville. The rescues go into homeless camps to bring dog sweaters and provide needed veterinary care. They brave dark alleys and respond to reports of dogs chained outside season-after-brutal-season. They make East Nashville a safe place for dogs and the owners who love them.

Just yesterday, almost four months since Elvin went missing, someone forwarded me a post a stranger wrote on Facebook. The man said that when he speaks to people all over the city and beyond, he tells them he lives in East Nashville and they say “Elvin!” Our boy is famous; the good people of East Nashville made sure of it. Every time the phone rings with a new lead, we are encouraged. We are still looking and so are the hundreds of people who have reached out to us in support.

Since losing Elvin, Ken and I have learned about the kindness of strangers. We’ve made treasured new friends. We’ve learned that we live in a close knit, compassionate community. We’ve learned that we must always find ways to reach out to people around us who are in need, and we know now that we cannot take our time together as a family for granted. We have also learned that the train whistle late at night can be a lonely, scary thing when one member of the family is lost in the world.

You can come home now, Elvin. Your Dad and I have learned our lessons, and we have many, many new people and puppies waiting to meet you. I still walk the sidewalks everyday looking for you, and I still have your favorite rawhides in the pantry. Please come home, buddy. We miss you.