Another metric is in: restaurant booths.

The last time I went to a certain fast casual chain was July 4th, which was about 6 weeks ago. I had been doing my frantic gym sessions and abrupt sugar detox for roughly 3 weeks at that point, so not much had noticeably changed for me physically yet. On July 4th, I struggled to squeeze into the restaurant booth and my body was touching both the back of the bench and the table throughout the meal — a reality I’d become all to familiar with, in spite of the discomfort.

Fast forward to yesterday when I returned to the scene of the ongoing crime. Several inches separated me from the edge of the table. I can comfortably fit into a booth again.

I had noticed the gradual changes over these past few weeks: more space between my belly and the steering wheel when I drive; less incidental contact with things like walls and furniture; roomier workout shirts; getting into tops that haven’t fit in several years. While my drops in weight haven’t been monumental, the slow slimming down of my figure has. In addition to fat, I was surely carrying a lot of bloat that has finally taken a hike.

I am falling into the trap of feeling frustrated that the number on the scale doesn’t seem to fully match what I’m observing off of it, and I’m trying to temper that as I continue my progress. I will say that the pounds lost aren’t obsessing me the way they used to in previous iterations of this. That tells me this is the healthiest approach I have ever had to getting healthy.

That beats every other metric, every time.