If you're my friend, you may have recently noticed that I dropped a few pounds. Ninety, to be exact. It's been a slow, steady process fraught (I've been waiting all week to use that word) with challenges, but I've persevered. Until recently.
The thing is, I hit a giant brick wall a few weeks ago. It's odd -- on the surface, it was made up of seemingly small things -- the backhanded compliments I had received from friends ("Seriously, are you on coke?"), the hopefully broken Taylor scale (which despite my best efforts, has refused to budget from 178), the excess skin on my now-deflated breasts. Taken individually, they would have been manageable, but collectively, they felt insurmountable.
And just when I started to feel sorry (and angry) at myself for failing once again, I did what any good scientist (or bullshit artist) would do -- I reassessed my metrics. My weight might be fixed, but I've dropped over 5% body fat in the last month alone. I just signed up for a introduction to ballet workshop, something that I would have never had the courage to do in the past. And shopping has regained its rightful place as my preferred lunchtime activity. For everything I've sacrificed, I've gained something new -- maybe not what I was expecting, or even hoping for, but more often, something better -- something I didn't even realize I was missing.
Maybe this then is the key to weight loss success -- the moment you realize that it is about so much more than a number on a scale. It's the sense of accomplishment that is instantly recognizable by everyone I see. The feeling that I CAN do anything that I set my mind to; I can succeed where so many others have failed, I can climb Mount Everest without freezing to death. I've come so far, to not finish now would be insanity.
So I will continue to demure when you inquire as to my drug of choice (after all, every good bad girl needs some sort of bad habit, even if only imagined), research (healthy) ways to ramp up my cardio, and start saving up for a breast lift. Because, as tough as it has been, it's still a hundred times better than the alternative.
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If you're a fan of the Boredom Blog, you may remember this little humdinger of a post where I mention that Bank of America is now charging a three-dollar ATM fee for non-customers. Hmm, what's that you say? You don't remember? Um, yeah, me either, because in a fit of desperation (I was wearing heels!) last weekend, I totally made the mistake of using one of their machines. That coupled with my bank's "convenience fee" (read: "Sucka! I can't believe you just paid me to do NOTHING!"), means I paid a $4.50 surcharge just to get enough cash to get a cab home from midtown (and before you snark, it was like 2:30 AM, the trains were all wonky, and I live in Brooklyn, for god sakes. Have a heart!). Adding to the list yet another reason why Suze Orman won't return my calls.
