January 2026 arrived quietly but with a weight that I could not ignore. The Christmas lights had vanished. The New Year’s hangover lingered like a shadow on the walls. Weeks of indulgence had left traces that the mirror and camera both demanded I confront. 

In the last quarter of 2025, rice had been consumed without restraint. Sauces had been poured with reckless abandon. Desserts had been far too sweet, and my body announced its verdict: the weighing scale registered more than I wanted. It was not catastrophic, yet it was enough to call my attention. 

I stepped away and waited. Day 1 had just begun.

The journalist that I am, I logged every meal, along with an approximation of each entry’s calories, with unflinching rigor. The truth was all that mattered. Every meal, every snack, every sip was entered into the digital ledger. Bananas were logged. Pork was logged. Eggs were logged. Rice was logged. Everything I drank was logged. Even occasional indulgences were documented. 

The first week felt like surveillance. Every bite was under investigation. Nothing could escape scrutiny. I realized that recording my choices was an act of truth as well as a conversation with my body in plain sight.

The numbers quickly became allies and adversaries. I aimed for a safe daily calorie deficit without deprivation. I wasn’t going to punish myself. Rather, I adjusted food intake and activity to hit my daily calorie target.

Other days indulgence crept slightly above the plan but remained within a safe range. From this I learned that modest deviation is not failure, control does not demand tyranny, and consistency mattered more than perfection.

Daily calories were carefully tracked. Protein came from eggs, chicken liver, lean pork, and even air-fried beef. Meals were measured, snacks filled the gaps, and protein intake was monitored to preserve lean mass. 

On the 30th day, the record told me the story with clarity: I had shed around four kilograms.

I had been riding my mountain and road bikes long before 2026, meant simply as a stress reliever. Weight loss was never the primary intention. I did not ride to burn calories or chase numbers on a scale. Yet I came to realize that those familiar rides had quietly done their part, accounting for roughly a third of the month of the weight loss. 

Some rides stretched to around 30 to 40 kilometers. Others barely reached 11. Each one mattered more than I had assumed. The wind on my face became a witness, and the trails became my confessional. 

Many others my age have not been so fortunate in evading problems with sugar. I have no such diagnosis, yet I have no excuse for what I sometimes consume. These are cravings, and I offer no justification for satisfying them. As I’ve stated, I am not out to “punish” or deprive myself of simple pleasures. 

For example, my morning coffee remained sweetened as I liked it, but each cup was halved. I drank only half. By doing so, the brown sugar and creamer were automatically reduced by 50%. Each sip felt like a small victory, a measured concession in the ongoing effort to reclaim control.

There were occasional breaches, of course. Processed meats were consumed. Pizza was eaten. Halo-halo was sampled. These were not crimes. But they were regulated and all were accounted for. They were contained. 

Vegetables, fruits, and fiber were included wherever possible. Micronutrient balance was preserved. Long-term harm was avoided. Every choice felt like a puzzle piece in a larger plan.

Maintenance versus target is not just arithmetic. Maintenance is the baseline – the amount of food (calories) your body needs to stay at the same weight if you do nothing differently. For example, if your body needs roughly 2,000 calories a day to maintain weight, that is your maintenance.

Target is the plan for change. It represents action, intervention, and control. If your target for fat loss is 1,500 calories, eating a little more — say 1,600 or 1,650 — does not mean failure. You are still below maintenance, and progress continues. But eating above maintenance, for instance 2,100 calories, would halt fat loss. Understanding this distinction allowed me to make smart, flexible choices without guilt.

(A word of caution from my nutritionist-dietician daughter Bujie: Maintenance and target are not the same for everyone. They vary according to age, weight, height, activity, metabolism, and any medical conditions. So, always consult experts.)

Thirty days later and four kilograms lighter, the scale was not my only measure. My pants fit more comfortably, shirts draped more loosely, muscles were more defined, and energy felt steadier. Foods that once triggered guilt were now eaten with intention and control.

Would muscle be lost? This is where proper protein intake comes in. So, my dialogue with my body had become both analytical and practical. I analyzed and weighed the consequences before eating anything.

There was no glossy transformation after 30 days. It was merely correction and recalibration. I was in control. Every pedal stroke, every measured bite, every ledger entry became part of the story. At night, after each last meal, looking at the numbers, I felt the thrill of evidence in my hands.

In a world addicted to instant fixes, the lesson is clear to me. Do it one day at a time. Count what matters. Track protein. Mind micronutrients. Allow occasional small pleasures. Understand baseline and action. That is progress that endures, survives scrutiny, and cannot be faked. 

As I write this, I am on the 9th day of the second month, and every day still counts. Now, I am about to take my next measured meal. The story continues. – Rappler.com