It’s time for a progress report on my weight loss. The good news is I have lost 27 of the 52 pounds Weight Watchers says I need to lose. The bad news is I don’t feel like I look better. I don’t even feel thinner. My clothes are telling a different story, of course, but my head is not buying it at all. I even ordered shorts a few weeks ago in my original size, my brain insisting that J. Crew runs small. Let’s just say I don’t need to unbutton or unzip them in the bathroom.
I know I am healthier. Getting winded on a flight of stairs is a thing of the past. Running is something I can now do and even enjoy (a little bit). At home I was running about three quarters of a mile and walking the last quarter. When we were on vacation I decided to see what I could really do. What I discovered is I can run a mile and a quarter without stopping. I don’t run fast, but damn it, I can run.
The twenty-five extraneous pounds that remain are not insignificant but I’m starting to wonder how I will feel when I finally reach my goal weight. Will I still think I’m fat? Forty plus years of poor body image are looking like a tough addiction to break free of. While there is no real “high”, I know I have used my weight as a comfortable crutch. For all the pressures being fat puts on a body, I used it to let myself off the hook about any number of things. Swimsuits, for example. I haven’t owned one since 1992.
Health is the reason I will soldier on to my goal weight and why I will work like hell to stay there. (Okay, health driven by a desire to see grandchildren because I am not living through this difficult period with my kids without a ginormous reward at the end.) Maybe by then my brain will get with the program too.