THE STARTING POINT
At 148kg, my daily routine was: wake up, order delivery, sit at my desk, order more delivery, sleep. Repeat. I had a gym membership I'd been paying for 8 months without going once. My knees hurt walking up stairs. I was 24 and felt like I was 60.
Then I stepped on the scale. 142.6kg. That number broke something inside me. Not in a dramatic movie way — more like "oh... so this is what rock bottom looks like."
FIRST WINS
Week 1: walked 15 minutes and nearly died. Week 2: cooked rice and chicken for the first time (burned it). Week 3: walked into a gym, grabbed the lightest dumbbell, and pretended I knew what I was doing.
But here's the thing — the scale didn't care about my technique. 135.6kg. 7kg down. I asked my girlfriend to take photos from every angle. Front, side, back. No excuses. I needed to see the truth to keep going.
HABITS LOCKED IN
My friends thought I was on a "phase." Three months in, they stopped joking. I learned 10 meals I actually enjoyed cooking (turns out food doesn't have to come in a delivery box). I stopped drinking soda — not because some guru told me to, but because water just started tasting better.
Took my first trip without gaining weight. Past me would've treated a vacation like an all-you-can-eat competition. New me walked everywhere, picked better meals, and came back lighter than I left. That's when I knew this wasn't a diet — it was who I was now.
THE BORING MIDDLE
Nobody makes motivational content about month 6. The excitement of "new me" wears off. You're not the "fat guy" anymore but you're not lean either. You're just... a guy going to the gym. The elevator mirror became my therapist.
Plateaus hit. Some weeks the scale wouldn't move. I buzzed my head (unrelated, but it felt like a new character unlock). 40kg down and nobody was clapping anymore — but I kept showing up. That's the part nobody tells you about: the middle is where transformations are actually made.
UNDER 100
I stared at the scale for a full minute. Then I took a photo because I didn't trust my own eyes. 99.5kg. Double digits. I hadn't seen a number starting with 9 since I was a teenager.
That same week I put on a suit for a friend's wedding. The tailor asked if I'd lost weight. I said "about 43kg." He thought I was joking. I wasn't.
Fun fact: I had to buy an entirely new wardrobe. Twice. My old clothes could fit two of me. RIP to those XXXL Hawaiian shirts.
THE PLATEAU (AKA THE TRUST ISSUES PHASE)
The scale didn't move for 10 months. 95–98kg, week after week. I wanted to throw it out the window. Was I broken? Did my body just decide "nah, this is the final weight"?
But then I noticed something: my shirts were tighter in the shoulders and looser in the waist. The mirror was telling a different story than the scale. I was losing fat and gaining muscle at the same weight. Body recomposition is real — it's just invisible to the scale.
Lesson learned: If you're training hard and the scale isn't moving, take photos. The mirror doesn't lie. The scale is just bad at math.
During this phase I traveled to Rio de Janeiro and took my shirt off at the beach without thinking twice. A year ago I would've worn a t-shirt in the ocean. Progress isn't always a number.
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THE FINAL CUT
Time to get lean. Really lean. I dialed in my nutrition like a psychopath (in the best way). Tracked everything. Trained 5x a week. Walked 10k steps daily. The veins on my arms started appearing and I may have flexed in every reflective surface I walked past.
My mom said I was "getting too skinny." Classic. I showed her the gym mirror selfie and she said "ok never mind." That's when you know you've made it — when your mom switches from "eat more" to "ok you look good."
FINAL FORM
88kg. Visible abs. Chest striations. Arms that make sleeves nervous. I looked in the mirror and the guy from February 2024 was completely gone. In his place was someone I'd never met before — and I liked him a lot more.
Hiked Rainbow Mountain in Peru at 5,200 meters without stopping. Two years ago I couldn't walk up two flights of stairs. Now I was above the clouds, literally and figuratively.
The real transformation: It wasn't the abs or the muscles. It was proving to myself that I could commit to something hard for two years and not quit. That changed everything — not just my body, but how I approach life.
