TLDR: it started and ended with the scale at the doctor’s office ... but now I can see my toes. —-
Go ahead, soak in the schadenfreude of imagining the scene where I collapse into a plump pile of tears and then promptly postmates a bucket of fried chicken to console myself.
To his credit, he did wrap it nicely and put a bow on it. The look on his face as I opened it was like the poor soul in a movie who has to defuse a bomb by guessing if they should clip the red or blue wire with a few seconds until it explodes, killing the entire Disney universe. He may have taken a deep breath and closed his eyes as he handed it over. Yelling ensued.
But... it wasn’t directed at him. It was me yelling at the damn inadequate instructions to connect the “smart scale” to the wifi. This involved me first trying to remember the wifi password. Passwords are the worst. Turns out, it was Bluetooth, but calling their help line is a story for another day.
Spouse breathed sigh of relief that I had been serious when I asked for a fancy new scale for my birthday and it wasn’t some trap like, “Is Gisele Bundchen prettier than me?” (he says no, liar) or “Is my lasagne better than your mother’s?” (point of fact: it is.) Sorry, folks, this ain’t a sob story — you can put away the popcorn.
I stepped on that new fancy scale: 179 lbs. 66 pounds lost with 6 more to go. At 5’11”, that’s a 25 BMI. 10 months of sane, slow weight loss with CICO. I’m built like a Valkyrie, so the top-end of the BMI scale works for me... and I can actually say: I’m not fat, I’m just big boned!
What has changed with the weight loss:
I can see my toes! ALL. OF. THEM. My feet are still ugly AF, but a 1/2 size smaller. Fun fact: feet also lose weight. These troll honkers still require I shop in the jumbo ladies foot section, but whatever. I can see them because my stomach is no longer my most “prominent” feature.
I get cold easier. The seal blubber I had before really did keep away the chill. But, damnit, I look cute in my sleek little jackets and slim-fit henleys. Actually looking forward to summer weather that doesn’t involve me trying to convince myself that a muumuu really flatters my back fat rolls.
No more hiding at the back of group photos... or begging people not to put them on Facebook. About a week ago somebody posted a series of candid photos that caught me from every angle. My biggest gripe was the the tag on my shirt was sticking out... but nobody could see it said size M. Oh, the vanity.
Less makeup and a fierce shorter haircut: I was fooling myself that somehow my longer hair “balanced out” my rotund stomach. Turns out that -5” of hair looks great with -10” off my waist. I’ve got cheekbones Kim Kardashian would envy, no contouring required. These sharp puppies get unexpected amounts of compliments. Plus, I have rediscovered my collarbone and shoulder-blades. Many years ago, I read a Jennifer Weiner book where the character loses a bunch of weight and wakes up one morning to find a hard lump on her hip. She thinks it’s cancer until she realizes that the hard lump is the same on both sides... they were hipbones. It was like that.
My intimate life. I’ll just say this: bumpin’ uglies with a bunch of extra weight was an exercise in getting winded with the lights off. My husband followed suit with his own weight loss — between the two of us, we’ve lost 110 pounds — and we enjoy our own bodies and each other’s much, much more.
What hasn’t changed:
I still look like a soup chicken in skinny jeans. Maybe more like one suited for coq au vin rather than plump centerpiece roast. Wide hips with slim legs will do that to a girl. Alas, losing weight doesn’t fix everything. But I’ve got that hot lower back muscle ridge thing going for me, so it’s a fair trade.
Everything hurts. But that’s a function of landing a glorious and hard-earned spot on nationally competitive rowing crew “Team Badass”. 5-6 days a week I spend 90 min testing the theory that the human body can simultaneously endure a hardcore cardio AND resistance training workout requiring a laser focused mind. Never felt more like a badass in my life. A year ago, I felt like a badass while wolfing down massive 1,000+ calorie burritos after a lighter workout because, you know, I “needed” the fuel. Packed on about 10 lbs of “muscle” from that logic. The aphorism that you win the weight battle in the kitchen and not the gym: truth. What doesn’t hurt anymore is my knees whenever I needed to haul my ass off the couch, or my ring finger after trying to lube up and jam my wedding band on only to watch it turn fifty shades of reduced blood flow.
I still argue with the Nurse Pratchett at the doctor’s office about my weight. A few days ago at my checkup, their scale showed 183, and I wanted credit for that 4 pounds! No dice. But it was late afternoon... I just drank a bunch of water so I could pee in a cup, was wearing jeans, a winter coat, and boots. Fine, I’ll show her at the next appointment. Last year’s checkup? I tried taking my sandals off thinking I’d magically drop 40 pound on the spot. Upside of my checkup: no more blood-pressure medication needed.
I have nothing to wear. she whines This time it’s because EVERYTHING in my closet is too big. Even my previously smallest jeans — the aspirational ones you keep with the glimmer of hope you’ll ever be able to pull up over your knees again — are baggy. And those fuckers were expensive. Kinda mad about that. Also... I’m a size 8-10, medium — and I’ve discovered finding shit that fits properly off the rack is still impossible. At least now I can say it’s an inventory problem without the little voice in the back of my head speaking the hard truth of, Sorry, Toots, it’s actually because you’re eggplant-shaped. And not the svelte Japanese variety.
I eat whatever I want, as much as I want ...HOWEVER, I’m under no illusions about the consequences of calories (~1700/day to lose, maintenance is next). I still have “hungry” days — especially when I’m PMSing. If I want a giant steak and mashed potatoes... I go for it. Rather than popping a couple alka seltzer’s afterwards and grabbing my sweatpants, I stay in my jeans and go easy on the calories for the next few days. Like a rational person. Like my life-long slender friends do.
So, if you’re still with me... a huge thanks for the support of this group. Gave me the info about CICO, MFP, and an outlet to do something i had never done before: use a sense of humor to tackle the emotional side of weight loss. I’d be lost (and still fat) without you.
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