My friends, I do believe I shall weep – for joy.
I just got back from the mall. (Which is nearly enough to make you weep right there, and not for joy!) I was NOT in the mood to shop, but I have several gift cards (no one attempts to buy me clothing anymore as my size keeps changing, only gift cards) and I need some stuff. So I thought, “I’ll go scope it out, see what’s there that I might want to get…I don’t have to buy anything.”
Now, having spent over $200 (a figure that makes me cringe, because that’s, quite frankly, two weeks’ pay from Target), I am sort of stunned at myself.
But I’m okay with the amount (not that I paid for any of it myself!), because of the other number that accompanies it – an 8. Yes, as in size.
Now…let me preface this by saying that when I started this whole journey a year and a half ago, I was in a 16 – or most of me was. Some of me was sort of spilling over; I really needed to be in an 18 but couldn’t face it. Even in October, I had edged back into a 12 after spending about two weeks in a 10. The last time I was in single digits was…oh dear. I don’t know. High school perhaps? And even then it was, like, a 9.
And now I am buying 8s…and NOT to “diet into”. Not with the intention of being in them in a couple of months – which was the whole idea behind even trying any ON — but because they fit. They FIT. ME. My butt goes in them and they zip and they button and they even LOOK OKAY. Not like a sausage stuffed into a casing that’s way too small or the Pillsbury Doughboy in drag…just normal and okay and even sort of good!
I would say there are no words but, come on, it’s me. There are always words. Just not any that are sufficient. I am literally nearly in tears at the prospect. And I come to you with this because, frankly, only those of you in the blogosphere who are interested enough to actually read these ramblings can even begin to understand. DH said, “That’s great.” I’m sure he meant it. But you know, he didn’t squeal, or jump up and down (well, I was on the phone, but you know I could have told if he were jumping, and he wasn’t) or rave or gush or…any of the things I’m doing right now. Cause he’s a guy, and he doesn’t care much about weight or sizes, and he doesn’t really quite get it. He’s proud of me, but he doesn’t get it. He hasn’t felt the shame of realizing that you now wear a larger size than not only your mother but also your near-term pregnant friend…or that you can’t really effectively shave your legs because there are parts you just can’t get to because the fat’s in the way…or the horror of realizing that you’re actually paying attention to the weight limits in elevators and wondering if you’re the one who’s going to put it over…or other even more personal things that I won’t go into cause they’re too gross, forget humiliating. No, I love him, but he doesn’t get it. Which is all right. Thank God for all of you who are on the same journey…and who are so wonderful…did I mention I’m weepy?
So anyway…at this point I would like to retract every whiny, complaining, childish thing I said or thought about Jillian’s workout (and I would very much like to retract that bag of potato chips I finished off last night but of course I can’t). I am misty-eyed over my turkey on wheat (buying a smaller size makes it SO much easier to bypass the pizza and head for Subway!) …and I WILL work out tonight, no matter how tired or achy I am. Because you know what? I like this feeling. I like it a lot. I want to bottle it and sell it to everyone on the planet because if I could, trans fats and empty calories would be a thing of the past.
So for the record – for posterity – for the future, when I get discouraged, note to self:
This feels amazing. I feel so strong. I feel completely empowered and overjoyed and proud of myself and my own work and the changes I have made. I am humbled and contrite over the changes I have not completely made, and the lack of discipline of the past few days…I am resolved to get my head back in the game and focus. (There is a very real possibility that, if I work really hard, I may one day see a -gasp – 6! I have NEVER worn a 6. I don’t care if I never do – but it’s electrifying to think it’s even in the realm of possibility.) I am alive with energy and joy and power and sheer happiness, and I WANT TO FEEL IT AGAIN.
Um, okay, I think that’s it. I’m just overflowing…