Can you hear it?
239.6 today. I broke 240. It’s gone. Yes, technically, were I to round up, I’d still be 240. But I’m not rounding up. As any Weight Watcher’s veteran can tell you, decimal points count.
So I’m taking a victory lap. It makes not having the macaroni & cheese, jalapeño and bacon- topped pizza at Selland’s totally worth it, though I am so back there on my next cheat day.
I slept poorly last night, one of those twilight sleeps where you’re aware, yet still dreaming, drifting in and out without any real rest. My husband got up at 4:40 am to wrap my ankle before he left for work. I was sadly awake, but thankful nonetheless. He jokes about being the student manager of the wrestling team, but that man can wrap an ankle like none other.
Anyway, I was wiped this morning and 98% percent sure I wasn’t going to workout. I was tired. It was a jam-packed day ahead. And I was really tired. My ankle hurt. I needed a shower.
You know that dialogue.
I saw that number and the excuses blew away like leaves in a gust of wind. Oh, I was working out. Hell to the yes. Because that’s the third goal realized. First, I broke 250. Then I hit the 10 pound mark. And now, I’ve kissed 240 goodbye. Pretty soon, it’s going to be 15 pounds lost and then, maybe another pant size. It’s a massive task in front of me, but with every chip I break away, the boulder is that much smaller.
It feels so damn good to have stuck with this. Better than the loss itself. I am fucking proud of myself and it’s been too long since I could say that without qualification or reservation.