December 8, 2008

I feel good.  Well, if you discount all the lame-ass shit I have to do this week.  I feel mentally beleaguered.  BUT,  I feel good, physically.

I have now lost twenty-two pounds, actual pounds of fat.  And I’ve been working out, a little – one night of crunches, one night of light arm weights, wedging clay and playing bongos (they totally count.) – so I think I might actually be developing a little muscle, as well.  So it’s practically feasible that I have lost 25 pounds.  From a start-point of 165, a loss of 22 pounds is a weight-decrease of about 13%.  That’s two babies.  Three, if they’re small.  That’s two eleven-pound bowling balls.  That is more than one tenth-of original-recipe me.  Holy shit.

No wonder I feel better.  I was carrying around two bowling balls, all the time.  Fairly evenly distributed bowling balls, but bowling balls nonetheless.

It’s apparently become obvious to others in the past week or so – though it’s also possible that the liquor factor of last Friday’s promotion celebration really opened people’s mouths.  My colleagues and the faculty here at the University kindly used words like ‘trim’ and ‘svelte’ – one man said I was a shadow of my former self’ – and while I am utterly complimented and glad that it’s showing, I was also a little surprised.  I mean, this is the first real success at weight-loss I have experienced, and though I know I was not slim before this, I didn’t count myself as particularly large, either.  I was a size 12-14, which is average, and I don’t personally see the changes as being drastic.  Yep, my old pants don’t fit, and I had to buy new bras.  But the changes seemed so gradual that it was pleasantly surprising that people would comment.

It is also a little weird.  Something a little bittersweet about it.  I didn’t feel all that great about myself three months ago, but I didn’t feel too terribly bad, either.  The new commentary makes me feel good, but the side effect is that I look back and am a little sad for that version of myself.  Was I delusional about how I really did appear?  Or was I really so much bigger before?

I suppose since it’s obvious now that my perception of self isn’t quite on the money, I can’t help but wonder if I’ve always been off.  Did I look bigger than I thought I did? I was asked the other day if I’d lost a bunch of weight.  What’s a bunch?  I suppose I have lost a bunch of weight, but I don’t think I look all that much different.  And if I were to add ‘a bunch of weight’ to my current bod, I would feel blimplike.  Was I blimplike?  I didn’t think so, but…

Who cares, right? The past is past!  Here I am, in the now, with my goals in sight and the willpower to make good choices and pursue them.  Here I am, in the first single-digit size pants I have worn since high school.  Here I am, rock you like a hurricane.

It’s good, really.  I don’t mean to complain.  And I don’t plan to earn those numbers back.  But still, I feel a little pang for old me every time I get a compliment.  It’s not sensible, and I’m trying to get over that – it’s just silly.  Let me be as Anne Shirley, and laugh, sip the honey from the tribute, and cast away the sting.



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