I'm feeling like I might as well call it good, devoted readers of Hot By Thirty. I hit 154 today, and then I went and had a margarita or three (not blended, surprisingly tasty) and a brownie the size of my face. And did not feel guilty. Well, not much.
I know I've still got a bit over a week to go, but I'm due for the time of the month in which I tend to GAIN weight no matter what I do, and I'm thinking that's not going to work out so well for Culmination of Hot By Thirty Day. The motivation, it is dissipating.
I feel like I have a thousand things to say about this whole weight loss journey (can I call it and still keep you as friends?) but then I get overwhelmed about how to say 1000 things in one post and so I don't write anything. I know that's not the right way to go about it. I should write a few things piece by piece, even if no one reads it. I feel like I need to write a few things down, maybe for Future Me, who might be trying to lose baby weight again and need some hope.
My treadmill is still broken, but I'm finding ways to run outside a few times a week, and it turns out I prefer it to the treadmill. (Will have to work on that once the seasons change.) I'm shredding a little more often and found a huge amount of motivation to do so when one day Phillip said my shoulders looked different. If there's any reason my shoulders look different it's because of the effing chair squat with a V raise, so bring it Jillian.
I fit into my sister's old fat clothes. This is some kind of psychological victory for me. In fact, I am wearing a pair of her old pants. The fact that these would be down around her ankles right now means nothing to me, because my sister has always been, in my mind, Tiny and now I AM FITTING INTO HER PANTS.
I bought a bikini. That I might wear in public. We'll see.
I went for a run a week or two ago that made me cry. (Gak, now very worried about ability to stay friends.) But seriously. It wasn't very long or far or difficult, but I was running, outside, where people could see me, without stopping, and I sprinted to the finish and I was so proud of myself.
I AM so proud of myself. I know I must sound so obnoxious, but I AM. I keep thinking back to high school. I am just dying to tell that girl what she can do. That she will be in better shape when she's 30 than she is after four years of running lines every afternoon at the end of practice. It makes me cry.
It's tied up with anxiety stuff, with the fiction I've started writing, with how confident I feel about myself and my relationships and my job as a stay at home mom. It's TOTALLY tied up with leaving my 20s behind. I know it's just a number, but then it feels like such an important number.
Yeah, I'm scared about what will happen if/when I'm able to let go of this admittedly OCD focus on weight loss. I WANT to let go. I don't feel like it's a particularly healthy mindset, to be so emotionally invested in that number. At the same time, it's what's made me successful. I'm still 4 pounds away from my goal, but I'm okay with that. I'm 9 pounds under my pre-pregnancy weight. I haven't been this size since 8th grade. I do not do not do not do not want to go back.
These are all things I've wanted to say, planned to say, meant to say later. But I'm saying them now, because it seems like I don't have time for this blog anymore (and that's sort of the point). I still want to post something for The Day. I want to post before and after pictures, which is going to embarrass the hell out of me, but I NEED TO. It's not just my OCD, it's the accountability I've found online, knowing that I was going to weigh in and tell you what I did that week. My whole life I've needed to document things and remember things and I want to make this official. Here's 180 something pounds. Here's 154. For my own benefit, even though I can't really tell you what that benefit is.
I don't feel skinny or super fit. (Probably because I'm not. HA.) What I do feel is a million times healthier. I can feel the difference in what I can do physically. My body is different, and not just because I've had two kids. I'm not scared of keeping up with other people. I don't feel like I need to cover up my size with jokes. I'm still bigger than the two friends I've told you about before, but I no longer feel like people are wondering what the fat white girl is doing hanging out with the hot skinny Asian girls. And just writing that makes me want to cry.
I am not afraid of diabetes. I should write about my dad sometime. I don't know if I'd be doing this if one day my dad hadn't thrown out all the sweets, switched to nonfat milk and bought a Nordic Track that he started using every single stinking day.
I think I am done for now. I hope I still have something left to write about next week. Maybe I will be funny and not so sappy. I hate sappy. I'm sorry. The end.