DAY 132: Excess baggage

I’m writing this post at the airport, where I’m waiting for my flight to the West coast to board. It’s been a while since I filled a suitcase with so many pairs of shoes that it actually felt heavier to me than the 50-pound checked bag limit (or whatever it is now) – y’know, now that I can wear high heels. (This is a BFD.) My bag is also full of materials for this conference I’m staffing for work all week, so I really wasn’t sure if I had overloaded it past the restrictions. So, before I left for the airport, I decided to weigh it. First, I weighed myself, then weighed myself holding the suitcase.

Reaction #1: Holy cow, holding a suitcase made for checked baggage that’s filled with 8 days’ worth of crap is not as easy as it sounds while trying to read the scale.

Reaction #2: That summabitch is heavy.

Reaction #3: It weighed 44.4 pounds – that’s not that heavy! I do 3 sets of 12 reps with a barbell that weight every other day. Why did it feel like so much?

Reaction #4: I’ve lost 74 pounds exactly as of today’s weigh-in. I was holding over half of that amount in my arms for just a moment while trying to get the weight of my suitcase. How the hell was I walking around with all of that and more attached to my body in the form of fat? And I still have so much to lose!

Reaction #5: I’ve lost not that far from double the amount of my suitcase. I’ve lost a solid suitcase-point-7. I’ve never been so happy to say I have lost a suitcase. (Here’s hoping the airline doesn’t read this and get any ideas.)

This weight-loss experience has started to fade from exciting to just weird. It’s… otherworldly. I’m suddenly mirroring Biggest Loser contestants who have to put the weight back on in sand-bag form for a physical challenge, and feel so stunned that those pounds were ever part of their bodies. I’m all nice to strangers and fittin’ into airplane seats and paintin’ my toenails on the regular. And the high heels – I mentioned the high heels, right?

I’m a walking Picasso painting.  I don’t know what the hell’s going on anymore.

If surreality is the new reality, I guess I have no choice but to get on board. I think my well-clad feet and I can make our peace with that.

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