I didn’t mean to become the friend who brings it up at dinner. Last week I caught myself talking my brother’s ear off about it for twenty minutes, then got home and stared at the same three-pound window I’ve been in since mid-February. Down 38 pounds total, sleeping through the night, not gasping on the stairs — but the number will not move. And still, if anyone mentions weight around me, I hear myself turning into a brochure. I’m not at goal. I’m tired of the flat line. Somehow I’m more convinced than ever. Is this normal? How many of you accidentally turned into the unofficial rep for this stuff while still mid-grind?
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