It’s been five weeks since I opened up about my seeming quest to rival Jabba the Hut in the category of “Most Likely To Require Two Coffins When They Die”, and the day after I wrote about my weight I hit the gym. My goal is to lose thirty pounds, which, if met, will not put me back at my wedding day weight but it will at least make me look like I’ve done something besides lick butter for the last 15 years.
I am happy to report that as of Saturday I am down eleven pounds, which means I am officially in my 2nd trimester of weight loss. Sometimes when really overweight people reach their goals they get to say things like, “I’ve lost a WHOLE PERSON!” Luckily, I don’t have that far to go so in comparison I suppose I could say I’ve lost a Chihuahua, or maybe a waffle iron; perhaps a few clock radios. Either way, I’m stoked.
Some of you are going to ask me what I’m doing – to go into detail would be the equivalent of Ferris Bueller’s teacher launching into a dissertation on the differences between white and ivory, so I will spare you. To sum up, I am eating less and moving more. I haven’t had a single soy burger and I’ve even had some chocolate cake and a spoonful of nutella. Shazam! It’s not so much about what I’m doing anyway, but what I’m learning in the process.
Most importantly, this goal of mine wasn’t solely based upon the numbers that appeared on the scale. Something was happening to me; to ME, not just my body. I was disappearing, and I was watching it happen – allowing it to happen, even. I was two different people trying to live the same life. One of Me wanted to wake up in the morning, throw open the blinds and seize the day with enthusiasm. The other Me thought that actually opening the blinds was asking way too much, and wouldn’t it just be easier to THINK about opening the blinds? With my eyes closed? From under the covers? The 2nd “Me” seemed to be winning out on most days, which was slowly but surely suffocating “Me” #1.
Until I gasped for air.
That’s really what this is about for me. I am coming up for air. I am fighting to feel alive, to be vibrant and brave and powerful. I feel it when I run to the beat of a good song, I embrace it when the days are warm enough to be outside and the sunlight bathes my soul. The two “Me’s” are striking a truce, and instead of competing for all of my attention we have linked pinky’s and agreed to work together to help create the best “Me” that there is.
I hear she likes Cher. Oh well, I’m looking forward to meeting her anyway.