I laughed.
I said, out loud, “FUCK YEAH.”
I took a few steps.
I doubled over.
And then I cried.

That’s how my weigh-in under 200 went today.

There was a lot of build-up to it. Six torturous weeks of crawling through the 200s while my clothes were fitting more and more loosely and my bones were getting more and more prominent. Just in the moments before my weight check, which was also for 2 DietBets, I slipped into scale-appropriate attire. I chose a sleeveless top that I knew would be too tight, because I last attempted to wear it a month ago and it was a no-go, but I wanted to wear something a little tight so that my size would be most accurately reflected in the pictures. (OK, and I also wanted that one for the color variety. Maybe even primarily for the color variety. I am what I am.) When it fit properly — perhaps even with a little wiggle room — I was pretty excited… but I knew better than to bank on due recognition from the scale after the heartbreak of last week.

But that nonsense was not to be repeated.

Today, on day 50 of Power 11, I became a resident of Onederland.

And I plan to stay here permanently.