The numbers keep falling, imperceptibly slow. This morning I weighed 156.7. This is the first the numbers have fallen below 157. I wish I had continued weight loss this summer, but I can't pretend to feel badly about it when I know I didn't work out or eat in a particularly conscientious matter.
This Thursday I went to a Zumba class that used to maintain anywhere from 80-120 people -- familiar faces that came week after week. This week it was down to 18. I know that there have been cancellations due to the extremely hot weather in interest of safety, but I find it disheartening that so many have stopped coming. I don't want to judge anyone else's commitment. It's selfish that I want them there -- they are the laughing, smiling faces that indirectly held me accountable for going consistently. They are the onces that complimented my booty roll and noticed my absence. Their absence, ironically, is probably one of the few small things that keeps me going. I don't want to attribute my failure to them. I started going to Zumba back in October of 2009 and have gone at least once a week, every week, since then only missing on occasion due to sickness. I am sad to say I've missed a number of weeks this summer due to poverty and sickness, but I am still committed to going. Without it I wouldn't have lost 35 pounds.
That doesn't mean it's not frustrating to think that it is now taking me weeks to lose weight I so easily shed in the beginning. I am supposed to celebrate success, however small, right?