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Explore the nuanced journey of weight loss, from aggressive early loss to the challenges of negotiation and adaptation in achieving lasting results.
At first glance, this looks like a simple average: ~0.84 kg per week. But averages lie. The real story only appears when the timeline is broken into phases and examined through physiology rather than motivation narratives.
Duration: ~2 months (May 14 – July 14)
Loss: 18 kg
This phase was intentionally aggressive. It included a water fast at the beginning, combined with a very low-carb diet.
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Key characteristics of this phase:
This was not sustainable, and it was never meant to be. It was a gravity-assisted descent, aided by the fact that at 118 kg the body has little reason—or ability—to resist early pressure.
The result was rapid scale movement, but much of it was structural (water + glycogen) rather than purely fat mass.
Duration: ~5.4 months (July 14 – December 24)
Loss: ~9 kg
This phase is where reality lives.
Formal scale tracking began only around ~98.5 kg. Prior to that point, progress was inferred from clothing fit, mirror feedback, and subjective markers rather than daily numerical measurements.
The symbolic "break of 100 kg" therefore represents a psychological boundary, not a precise data point. Actual bodyweight may have been closer to 98–99 kg by the time consistent weighing began.
This means the transition from Phase 1 into Phase 2 is fuzzy by design. What matters is not the exact kilogram, but the shift from unmeasured momentum to measured resistance. The dynamics remain the same even if the boundary slides by 1–2 kg.
Once daily weighing began at ~98.5 kg, the trajectory became clearer.
For roughly the next 30 days, a fairly aggressive stance was maintained. During this window, weight moved from ~98.5 kg down to ~95.5 kg. Loss was still occurring, but noticeably slower and more effortful than in the unmeasured early phase.
After that, a prolonged resistance period emerged.
For another ~60 days, bodyweight largely oscillated between ~95.5 kg and ~93 kg, with occasional brief lows around ~92.5 kg that failed to hold.
During this time:
This period marks the clearest example of active negotiation with adaptation. Effort did not collapse, but it was no longer escalated. The system resisted further descent and instead stabilized within a narrow band.
The absence of linear loss here does not indicate absence of fat loss. It reflects a body reallocating, defending, and recalibrating under lower but more livable pressure.
What looks like a stall in isolation functions, in hindsight, as a necessary holding pattern that made later progress possible.
More broadly, it demonstrates that progress did not come from continuous escalation of effort, but from alternating pressure with accommodation.
During the second part of the journey, the tools and framing changed.
A concrete 90-day time horizon was set, with a target of 87 kg, starting from roughly 95.5 kg. On paper, this looked both aggressive and reasonable: it would move bodyweight into a healthier BMI range within a bounded, motivating timeframe.
When translated into numbers, the structure of the goal mattered more than the headline target.
Early movement—especially following the second water fast—produced a rapid drop toward the 90–91 kg range. Roughly ~4 kg in ~3 weeks was observed, which is still an aggressive rate at this stage of bodyweight.
However, once that early drop was accounted for, the remaining path to the goal flattened significantly. The required daily deficit to stay on track fell into the range of ~300–400 kcal per day.
This introduced a new kind of constraint.
On one hand, the program softened: the remaining deficit was smaller, and in principle allowed more food, more flexibility, and less overt restriction.
On the other hand, it became fragile. Operating in a small marginal deficit over a long future window meant:
This created a subtle trap. Early success combined with a fixed, forward-looking goal forces the system into long-duration, low-margin control. The effort does not disappear—it changes form.
The additional calorie allowance also expanded the food universe. Items like Greek yogurt entered as powerful tools: highly satiating, protein-rich, but also easy to overconsume depending on fat content and portion size.
As a result, the challenge shifted again:
Psychologically, this is a distinct regime. It requires the same vigilance and mental engagement as aggressive loss, but with delayed feedback and reduced error margins. The work becomes quieter, more cognitive, and easier to undermine unintentionally.
This phase highlights a less-discussed difficulty of fat loss: success can create conditions that are harder to manage than scarcity, not because they are stricter, but because they demand sustained precision under looser constraints.
One aspect that became clear only in hindsight is the psychological function of the second water fast.
During slow, low-slope descent, psychological reward is scarce. Daily measurements fluctuate violently, comparisons with earlier phases are unavoidable, and the satisfaction gained from the process itself diminishes—even though the same level of mental energy, vigilance, and effort is still being expended.
In that context, the second water fast served a role beyond physiology.
A water fast is an intensive experience regardless of familiarity. When it produces a new, undeniable low, it delivers a concentrated psychological reward. It reintroduces a sense of causality: an action was taken, and something moved.
That matters. The appearance of a new low creates momentum not just on the scale, but cognitively. It restores agency. The mindset shifts from passive endurance to active defense: holding the new low, expanding it, and riding the short window where gravity briefly assists again.
This helps explain why such interventions can be effective even when they are not metabolically decisive. They reset belief in the process, without implying that they are necessary, optimal, or a "lesson" to be learned.
However, sustaining progress after that moment requires a different psychological contract.
A forward-looking goal—such as targeting 87 kg from ~95 kg over ~90 days—demands trust rather than intensity. It requires accepting that the reward is deferred, and that day-to-day actions will not feel proportionate to the outcome they are meant to produce.
The motivating question becomes explicit:
If the target were reached exactly as planned—at a future date, at a specific weight—would that outcome be subjectively satisfactory?
In this case, the answer was yes. Reaching 87 kg would:
Once that answer is affirmative, the nature of effort changes in practice — not in principle.
Nothing about this reframes the original intent or elevates patience over aggression. It simply describes what happens when a long-horizon target is chosen: effort must be carried forward without immediate reinforcement, and belief in the outcome replaces reliance on daily proof.
This is not presented as an ideal mindset, a superior strategy, or "the point" of the process. It is a description of the psychological configuration that emerged when operating under small margins and distant targets.
Whether that configuration is tolerable, motivating, or even desirable remains an open question, not a conclusion.
During long periods of slow descent, feedback becomes weak and unreliable. Daily measurements fluctuate sharply, progress is hard to distinguish from noise, and comparisons with earlier, faster phases are unavoidable. The same level of attention and effort is applied, but the process yields little immediate psychological reward.
In that context, the second water fast functioned as a deliberate intervention to force a signal. Regardless of metabolic details, it reliably produced a new low on the scale. That mattered because it re-established a direct connection between action and outcome.
Seeing a new low changed behavior. It created something concrete to defend. The appearance of a new low created a reference point that behavior could be organized around: maintaining the drop, attempting to extend it, and observing how the system responded in the days immediately following. The following days felt actionable again rather than purely reactive.
As goals were pushed further into the future—such as targeting 87 kg from ~95 kg over ~90 days—the psychological demands changed again. Day-to-day actions no longer felt proportional to results. Progress depended on maintaining alignment with a future outcome rather than relying on daily reinforcement.
The motivating calculation became explicit: whether reaching that future state would be subjectively worth the sustained effort. In this case, the answer was yes. The target implied a lower BMI category, access to new clothing sizes, and entry into a numerical range that had not been occupied in a long time. That made the distant goal concrete rather than abstract.
From that point onward, the task was to operate inside a low-margin system for an extended period of time: small deficits, narrow error tolerance, delayed validation, and constant calibration. The effort remained high, but its expression shifted from forcing movement to maintaining orientation.
Across the later stages of the process, the intent remained consistent: to push as far as possible and observe what maximum sustained pressure would produce.
Effort did not relax. Attention stayed high. The system was monitored continuously: intake, weight, fluctuations, trend, and deviation from expectation. Progress required facing resistance repeatedly—psychological, emotional, and behavioral—without disengaging from the process.
As short-term feedback weakened, the control strategy shifted toward trusting the numbers. Rather than expecting daily confirmation, focus moved to averages and trajectories. The objective became hitting the required inputs over time, even if any given day failed to reflect them.
This required placing the point of satisfaction explicitly in the future. Motivation came from a concrete evaluation: if the planned outcome were achieved exactly as specified, it would be sufficient. The math supported that conclusion, and trust in the math replaced the need for constant immediate reinforcement.
From that point on, the task was to apply pressure, observe the data, and avoid overreacting to short-term noise. Large drops were no longer required as proof of progress. Immediate action for immediate reward became less relevant than maintaining alignment with the projected outcome.
This represented a change in measurement, not a reduction in ambition. Early in the process, progress was evaluated through immediate physical signals—clothing fit, daily scale movement, visible change. Later, progress was evaluated through adherence to a model: targets, averages, and forward projections.
The insight here is descriptive rather than prescriptive. It records that operating under long timelines and small margins required comfort with delayed validation and outcome-based goals, even while pressure and effort remained high.
Another way to describe the later stages is in terms of instrumentation rather than motivation or strategy.
The instrumentation itself did not fundamentally change. What changed was how it was relied upon.
The system functioned like a closed capsule: pressure and attention were applied from the outside, while all internal states—mood, fatigue, frustration, fluctuations, circumstances—were allowed to occur inside it. The task was not to eliminate internal variation, but to maintain the capsule.
From the outside, the role was consistent:
Everything that happened inside the capsule was dealt with as it arose. Nothing was taken as a reason to abandon the structure. Emotional swings, stalls, impatience, and uncertainty were treated as internal events, not directives.
Immediate results were not ignored. New lows and sharp movements remained meaningful signals and, at times, deliberate actions—such as the second water fast—were used to reassert the ability to affect the system and restore a sense of controllability.
At the same time, the same instrumentation allowed for long stretches where outcomes were deferred and the system was trusted to converge over time.
This was not a switch to a different tool. It was the same tool applied across different regimes. The method—apply pressure, observe, maintain the container—remained constant regardless of whether feedback was fast or slow.
What changed was not intent, effort, or aggressiveness, but tolerance for delayed validation while keeping the structure intact.
(Standalone concept — candidate for expansion into a separate piece)
For a long time, food intake relied heavily on items consumed directly from packaging: cheeses, hams, yogurt, kefir. These foods have a specific advantage: perfectly controlled units. Portions are known, composition is stable, and decisions are minimal. There is little room for error and little cognitive overhead.
This structure reduces decision fatigue almost entirely. Even boredom behaves differently than expected. With a small rotation, craving does not disappear; it simply reorients. Over time, the same limited set of foods becomes desirable in its own way, much as a broader diet would. The mechanism does not vanish—it narrows.
What this mode lacks is not satiety or control, but lifestyle texture.
Eating exclusively from packaging removes certain artifacts that normally accompany identity: cooking, preparing meals, spending time in the kitchen, and producing something that feels lived-in rather than optimized. There is no visible signal—internally or externally—of how someone at a lower weight might actually live.
This absence eventually becomes noticeable, especially if creating meals is valued as a calming or meaningful activity. At that point, the question shifts from "what can I eat" to "how does someone at this weight live." Not as an abstract identity exercise, but as a practical concern.
Reintroducing cooking raises the standard immediately. If time is spent in the kitchen, the result must justify the effort while remaining compatible with the constraints of the system. In a low-carb context, this severely limits options and forces a reassessment of what cooking even means.
That reassessment leads into foods that are often overlooked: cauliflower, cabbage, and similar vegetables. These are rarely central in most cuisines unless shaped by specific cultural traditions. They are usually encountered as sides, not as foundations.
Exploring these ingredients opens a different space. It requires abandoning familiar templates of what a meal should look like and instead working within the available structure. This exploration was not about indulgence or variety for its own sake, but about reintroducing a livable form of daily practice without dissolving control.
The move toward hot meals was therefore not a relaxation of pressure. It was an attempt to integrate control with a sustainable sense of how daily life might function at a lower weight.
Throughout both phases, dietary carbs were kept extremely low:
This placed the system in a chronically glycogen-depleted state, which:
In this context, the scale often reflected stress, sodium, sleep, and cortisol as much as fat mass.
Two water fasts occurred:
These fasts were not long-term fat-loss strategies. They functioned as system resets:
Their effect was to push the body through defended weight ranges and reveal lower basins. After the second fast, a clear floor formed around ~93 kg.
Importantly:
This indicates the fasts temporarily outpaced adaptation but did not override it.
The ~93 kg level behaved like a defended equilibrium:
Dropping below this floor did not happen through shock. It happened through time spent living just under it, slowly persuading the body that this lower weight was compatible with normal life.
Reaching 91 kg was not a dip. It represented a lowered floor.
After the second water fast, the dietary structure changed significantly:
This coincided with a period of adjustment and experimentation, including a notable reliance on Greek yogurt:
This created a new challenge: not elimination, but calibration. Portions, fat content, and frequency had to be actively negotiated.
This phase marked a shift:
The benefit was not faster loss, but greater stability.
The observed change in rate is presented here without moral framing.
There is no claim that the slowdown was a failure, a success, a lesson, or a justification. It is not positioned as something that needed to be explained away or defended against.
The rate changed because multiple variables changed simultaneously over time: body mass, expenditure, diet structure, psychological load, measurement precision, and goal configuration. Output shifted accordingly.
This section does not argue that the change was good, bad, inevitable, or optimal. It records that under sustained pressure, the system responded differently at different stages.
Any interpretation beyond that is deliberately left open.
No excuses are implied. No absolution is offered. No narrative arc is imposed.
The objective from the beginning was explicit: go hard and observe what is actually possible.
There was no attempt to optimize for comfort, balance, or narrative cleanliness. Pressure was applied deliberately and continuously, and for most of the timeline it felt aggressive from the inside. The system was monitored daily with significant mental effort: signals were observed, interpreted, tested against outcomes, and renegotiated when reality diverged from intention.
What follows is not a justification, a defense, or a reframing of effort into virtue. It is a retrospective description of constraints.
The data shows what happened when sustained pressure met biological adaptation over time. It shows how output declined despite maintained focus, how returns diminished despite continued engagement, and how corrective actions were introduced to manage emerging instability.
The later phases did not represent a shift away from effort, but a shift in what effort was required. Psychological regulation, expectation management, and nutritional restructuring became necessary to prevent collapse of the system.
Losing ~9 kg over the later months was not an abstract statistic. It corresponded to substantial, tangible change: clothing fit, body geometry, and physical presence shifted in ways that would be decisive for most people.
This document does not argue what should have been possible. It records what was possible in one concrete case, under one set of rules, priorities, and lived conditions.
The final weight reflects the equilibrium that emerged from this interaction — not a moral statement, not a success narrative, and not an excuse.
Linear models fail not because effort is absent, but because adaptive systems change the terms of engagement.
This journey is therefore best read as a mirror of reality, not a lesson, a defense, or a prescription.
This document is a skeleton: the infrastructure of the journey. Details, reflections, and analysis can be layered onto it without changing its underlying logic.