Saturday, I got dressed. Glimpsed in the mirror and actually liked what I saw. A rarity.
Excited. I called my daughter in my room for confirmation and she too agreed. I’m looking more toned and there’s noticeably less back fat (with no girdle thingy even).
Somethin’ about looking good that makes me feel good. I realize, I put a lot of emphasis on the way I look and perhaps I don’t tout the health benefits of losing weight as much as I should. Believe me, I am grateful that by changing my ways I have increased my odds of living better and longer, reduced the stress on my heart and knees. But coming from a place of morbid obesity and losing 170 odd pounds, it’s hard to look in the mirror and still be confronted with fat. I mean, I lost the equivalent weight of an adult male. So to still look in the mirror and be fat… I know, I know. I shouldn’t, but I do. Anyway, I’m not even going there right now.
Rather, I’m celebrating. Celebrating health, fitness. Celebrating my hard work and dedication. Celebrating my success.
For once, I looked in the mirror and didn’t mind so much the way I looked.
There was a rare sighting this weekend. I’m working, however, on changing that to a common day occurrence.
I am a product – and now a survivor – of childhood obesity. As a child, my family always told me that my extra weight was merely baby fat and I’d eventually grow out of it. I never did. Instead, my childhood is filled with memories of not being able to ride a bike, flattening its training wheels from being over the recommended weight, and avoiding P.E. classes by any means necessary. For years, I wore my fatness like a wounded soldier wears a Purple Heart - with pride. I owned the look. I dressed it up. I worked the room. There wasn't a skinny girl who intimidated me. I made sure my hair was laid just right. Nails polished. Outfits coordinated to the tee. Accessories to compliment every outfit. But everyone has a breaking point, and mine came in the spring of 2004 when I tipped the scale at nearly 400 pounds 388 to be exact. I was MISERABLE trapped inside of that body. I no longer wore my Purple Heart with pride. Rather, I was ashamed and frightened. Ashamed that I had allowed food to become my everything – frightened I would die because of it. Drastic times called for drastic measures...
Today, I’m bound and determined to live a better, healthier, active lifestyle. I realize I’m no longer a passenger in my life, I’m the driver. I’m overcoming my inhibitions and I’m slowly but surely saying farewell to my old childhood nemesis, obesity. For once and for all, Farewell Fatso!