Tag Archives: life

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NEW DAY 283: Big back and a side of thighs

It’s the last day of my Power 11 challenge. I’ve been consciously tracking quite a few metrics throughout the past 11 weeks to monitor my changes, but there have been some I couldn’t have predicted. Today, an unexpected moment cemented a trend I’ve been lightly observing over the past week, and I’m… still wrapping my head around it.

Earlier this week, I casually scooted my carseat when I got into the car. There was no thought involved. I got in the car, felt too far from the steering wheel, and moved the seat forward. Only once I’d started the car did it hit me how weird that was; I’m the only person who drives my vehicle, and my seat position hasn’t changed in… ever? Why would it? My height hasn’t changed, so why should an adjustment like this suddenly be necessary?

Oh. Because there’s less cushion behind me, forcing my body forward and out from the seat. The disappearance of that natural padding has required me to sit farther back in the seat, creating more distance between the wheel and the rest of my body. It makes sense… but it also makes no sense at all.

Later in the week, I took myself out for a walk through a touristy area near my office. I happened upon a t-shirt I liked and decided to buy it — but I spent several minutes debating what size to get. The XL looked huge. The L looked right. I ultimately opted for the XL, rationalizing that it’s better to have something be too big than too small, I could wear it over something else if it actually was too big, and it might shrink in the wash anyway.

Then today, my package arrived of the 2 maxi dresses I ordered as options to wear to an upcoming event. I tried them both on immediately, and just as immediately, saw that they were too big. Not just kind of too big; too big as in the elastic band under the bust on one of them wasn’t even making contact with my skin. That one is going back where it came from. (I’m keeping the other for a swimsuit cover-up.)

The kicker about those dresses is that I pored over the size chart for each one before choosing the size. The smaller size matched my latest measurements, but once again, I rationalized that most brands run small (in my experience), and I’m inept at taking my measurements, so I didn’t fully trust the numbers. I erred on the side of bigger, just to be safe.

On my walk today, I caught a glimpse of my lean-looking shadow moving with relative ease up and down the hilly terrain. It sent me onto a thought spiral of the way the skirt I wore earlier this week wasn’t clinging to my hips like it used to, the way my red pants swished instead of hugging the length of my legs the other day, and the way I can feel and see new contours in my thighs both in motion and at rest. (Seriously, all the divots and indentations and little bulges — the topography of my legs is a totally new frontier to me.)

This is all inescapable evidence that there is some serious recomp happening here. And even though I expected it, it’s messing with my head. Hell, even expecting it to mess with my head has not curbed the messing-with of my head.

It isn’t squaring for me. Does not compute. That’s why I keep catching myself hedging. I negotiate with reality in real time, just like I did in all 3 instances above where I was confronted with my physical changes.

I’ve watched myself get smaller. I’ve felt myself shrink. I’ve put in the work; it’s not like it’s a surprise, or something I didn’t very much want. Why am I resisting the evidence? Why so skeptical?

It’s a simple answer: this shit is crazy, and it can make a person feel crazy.
Just like going to the gym when I’m already exhausted —
Just like staying on the run when I’m out of breath —
Just like choosing the healthy food option over the convenient one —
This is a mental game much more than it is a physical one.

I’ve been a big back forever — since before “big back” was even a term. Someone who’s moving closer to the steering wheel, comfortably wearing size L clothing, and finding more power in her legs even as they shrink? That doesn’t sound like me.
I can see it. I can feel it. It makes sense… but it also makes no sense at all.

When I do my weekly weight check tomorrow morning, the scale may or may not reflect what I’ve been noticing since our last encounter. I don’t necessarily need it to. Either way, it will be capping off 11 weeks of a particular kind of focus. My weight loss from the past 10 weeks has actually not been that impressive, so I’m not expecting any remarkable drop to suddenly show up tomorrow morning and buck that trend. What I do think I’ll see tomorrow are some jaw-dropping side-by-side photos contrasting day 1 and day 77+1.

Regardless of what I see in the metrics or in the pictures, what I’m feeling now is a whole new level of embodiment. I struggle to articulate exactly what that means, and attempting to process it all internally is proving just as difficult. It’s hard because change is hard. But change — this kind of change — is also very, very good. Hard isn’t always bad.

I’m changing. A lot.

And I love that for me.

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NEW DAY 277: Spring refresh

Spring is here! Appropriately, I am springing into a new phase of this whole health revolution of mine.

I know myself well, so I have known from the beginning that I would need to keep things interesting so I could stay engaged with the process as time went on. That’s been the philosophy behind my medium-term challenges, like 75 Hard, half-marathon training, and Power 11. As the half approaches and Power 11 draws to a close (7 days left!), I’ve also reached a new level of fitness: I feel motivated to start targeting new muscle groups to keep improving my strength, and my body is physically capable of doing more.

With that in mind, I have started getting more experimental, exploratory, and expansionist with my exercise. I’ve begun incorporating core work into my cross-training. I’ve meandered new paths on my local trails, which led to the discovery that I can walk to them from my house — a total game-changer that I will be taking full advantage of now that the weather is becoming more favorable. I’ve invested in an adjustable kettlebell that will turbo charge my sessions by combining cardio and strength for a full-body workout. In the coming weeks, my gym will begin finally offering the pilates classes I signed up for back in January when they first announced them. All of this serves the important dual purposes of giving me variety so there is no physical complacency and providing novelty so there is no mental complacency. I am genuinely looking forward to getting into all these new activities!

It feels good to be this far into my Big Change and still be enthusiastic and committed to the process, which was exactly the point of planning against boredom. It’s been 9 straight months of intensity that was always hard work — even when it didn’t feel like it — because I’ve ensured there would be fun involved. The same goes for meals: I’m eating healthy food, but I’m not eating anything I don’t like. In the gym as well as in the kitchen, you don’t have to sacrifice flavor. Keep it spicy, fam. 🌶️

A week from today, all of my Power 11 results will be in. I’ve already laid out the clothes I’ll be wearing in my final progress pics that day: the same pieces I wore in my day 1 photos and have not put on again since. I’m looking forward to seeing the outcome across several metrics of what I’ve been tracking since January 11th!

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NEW DAY 260: Downsizing

In a past life, when I was having success with weight loss, I used to do this thing where I’d buy a few articles of clothing a size down from where I was, every time I reached a new smallest size. Staying on top of the sartorial demands of slimming down is an expensive pursuit whose timing is unpredictable, so it helps to be prepared for it; my little gimmick helped not only to keep me motivated, but to keep me clothed. My big move was rifling through the sales and clearance racks for off-season finds that gave me a comfortable cushion, to the extent that the season-bound availability allowed. Every time I purchased a downsizing garment, I wrote the date on the tag, which remained attached until that piece fit. Once I could wear it and it became an official part of my wardrobe, it was a cool way to track the time between size changes that weren’t always congruent with the scale — and it came with a fun little ceremonial act of snipping off the tag.

Last night, while I was laying out my attire for today (to save me time in the morning), I found one such relic from that bygone era:

I tried on this skirt and it fit. With room to spare. (So yes, I wore it today.)

Seeing the date on the tag as I cut it off triggered a memory of a couple of other items I bought around the same time: two pairs of… shorts. 😱

I found them immediately, folded together in a tiny stack on a shelf in my closet: one a size 14, and the other a quixotic size 12. The tags aren’t dated, but I’m reasonably certain they were from around the same time as when I bought the skirt I wore today, if not from the same shopping trip.

These are the two smallest downsize items I have. This means two pretty big things:
1) I have never been as small as I am now.
2) I am about to enter a new frontier that I am literally not outfitted for.

I set both pairs of shorts out in plain view for subtle thinspiration. It was too soon to try on either of those sizes, having newly sized down into 16s. Maybe in another month or two, I’d be up for trying on those 14s. For now, those two pretty big things are a lot to absorb.

So when I got home from work today, in the skirt I was wearing for the first time since purchasing it more than 9 years ago — because I regained all the weight I’d lost before I got the chance to shrink into it — I wanted to make sure it wouldn’t also be the last. I picked up those size-14 shorts from their spot and held them up in front of me. The idea of fitting into them suddenly didn’t seem so outlandish.

And it wasn’t.

Because they fit.

Not perfectly. Not as flatteringly as they will after another few inches disappear from my hips and waist.
But the fastener closed.
The zipper slid right up.
Those shorts were on me.
And I was floored.

It’s truthfully a little nerve racking; I have no blueprint for this phase. I haven’t “been there before”. I don’t know what I’ll look like the next size down. I don’t know what I’ll feel like when those 12s are sliding on. I don’t know how things will fit me at clothing sizes I’ve never bought ahead, let alone worn. Most alarmingly, I don’t know for sure that I’m gonna make it to the next size below. There’s no precedent for any of that.

But I made the major choice at the outset that every minor choice I make in this process will support my overall health. I do know I won’t deviate from that, because there’s nothing but precedent for it — and a trove of powerful results that have come from it. I believe in what I’m doing. I may not be prepared for the next step down, but when I get there, I will be ready.

This is where the real emotional work begins. In the interest of always choosing my health, I’ve been laying track for months to support my psychological journey that will go right through the heart of this thing. It’s already been exhausting, and it’s not even at full speed yet. The beautiful thing I have going for me is the physical activity that keeps me mentally regulated. And that’s a full circle.

So I might as well complete another circle while I’m at it. New frontier sounds pretty great to me.

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NEW DAY 257: Prescription plans

Today was my first doctor’s appointment in more than 7 years.

I told her about my 105+ pounds of lost weight. I told her my menstrual cycles have become regular again. I told her I’m training for not one, but two half marathons this year.

She told me I was doing everything right. She told me maybe I didn’t need to drink quite so much water. She told me to get lab work and come back at the end of the month.

We talked about my complex medical history. We talked about my current nutrition. We talked about my future goals.

And we began a conversation about one big thing that’s been on my mind for the past few months: skin removal surgery.

Because in several places on my body where there used to be fat, my skin hangs low. It wobbles to and fro. Before too long, it wouldn’t surprise me if I could tie it in a knot and tie it in a bow. God forbid I should wind up with enough to do what’s described in the lyric that comes next.

I’m not done yet. There’s no certainty about much more time it will take me to reach my “end state” — but it could be about a year, give or take. Starting the conversation with my doctor is the right move strategically for insurance purposes as well as for my own psychological and logistical purposes. My doctor gave me a referral for a practice that has done good work for a past patient of hers for an initial consultation, as a first step, which I look forward to taking. And, if I’m being 100% honest, it motivates me to keep going. Yes, I am interested in the aesthetics of this because I’m a person with deep-seated body issues and some (probably standard-issue) vanity to boot; no question it’s unsightly. But also, it is physically uncomfortable. Loose skin hanging from my arms, belly, and inner thighs is in the way. It chafes. It bulges. It gets irritated. And it’s not the kind of skin that just burns off when you lose more weight; it gathers additional mass.

This is just the beginning of a longer discussion, but it’s the right time. A surgical option is a big decision with a lot to think about, and I’m ready to start doing that in a real way with professionals who can paint it all in practical terms. My body isn’t finished changing yet, but the progression has been so rapid — 92 lbs since mid-June — that the finish line is going to get here fast no matter when that is.

I want to be prepared for it, not blindsided by it.

So, yes: today was a big day. It felt like the start of a new chapter. Not the exit from an old chapter, but the beginning of a concurrent one that has never been foreshadowed in anything that has been written so far. It’s as grounding as it is exciting, because for the first time, I’m looking at something that feels within my reach. I believe I have a doctor who is on my side and is invested in my health. I don’t have to do it alone.

Going forward is going to get harder because it’s going to demand more and more from me. I’ve already had to persevere through the slog of the 200s, sticking to my plan without taking drastic measures out of desperation to finally cross that threshold. I’ve already had to work around injuries and modify training sessions. I’ve already had to creatively reconfigure my schedule to ensure my workouts and meals didn’t fall off. It’s nothing I haven’t been able to handle, but it is the type of demand that tends to produce fatigue that compounds with time and demand. I’m trying to be prepared for that, too.

I heard somewhere, in a different context, perhaps the most affirming and applicable quote that fits my whole approach to my self-improvement work: “Motivation is fickle; discipline is consistent.”

I’ve shown up.
And I’ll keep showing up.
Because god damn if I’m not disciplined.

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NEW DAY 247: Halves & holes

Today is day 41 of Power 11. That’s a day and a half beyond the halfway point of my homemade challenge.

I am crushing it.

I’ll eventually know how much weight I officially lost in the first half, but that isn’t the point. I’ve stuck to my checklist every day and every week, which means I’ve shown up for myself for the past 40 days. I’ve honored my half marathon training, which means adjusting the plan when I’ve had injuries or other disruptions to work around. I’ve avoided sugar, followed my meal plans with meal prep, and guzzled water like it’s going out of style. I’ve read to engage my mind and written to express it. And I’ve stuck with my weekly selfies, measurements, and weigh-ins. Keeping the weight checks limited to once per week has remained the biggest test for me, and I have not caved to the temptation of curiosity when it piques midweek.

Somewhat to mark this, but mostly to mark my reclamation, I got myself a double forward helix piercing today. I scheduled my appointment more than 2 weeks ago, when I knew I would have lost 100 lbs by now — and with an eye toward the recognition that my most recent highest weight was recorded on this date last year.

I am obsessed with my new piercings.

I love everything about them.

In the same session, I also had the piercing downsized that I got in the flat of my helix in my other ear during my last weight loss odyssey… 10 and a half years ago. There’s something extra satisfying about the historical rhyming of that… and I’ll leave it there.

Today was a good day. After a week where I sobbed at least once a day every day for 5 days straight, I needed it.

I’m eager to meet with the scale on Sunday.

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NEW DAY 244: The path

Months ago, I predicted that I would reach a point in my weight loss where the emotional dam would break, unleashing decades of emotions locked away behind body armor I’ve packed on as excess weight.

That time has come.

I have been going through it lately. I have cried every day since Saturday for one reason or another — or, more likely, for a nice big tangle of reasons knotted together by tenuous, anachronistic threads that barely make sense as part of the same weave.

Drastic weight loss? It’s… forgive me… heavy.

Seeing myself in the mirror feels like an elaborate prank. Sometimes I look so small, I can’t reconcile my reflection with the image of myself that lives in my mind. Other times, I still look so huge that the amount of work I have left to do seems nearly undoable.

Getting dressed is a gamble. If the pants fit my waist, will they be too tight in the calves and consequently spend the day being pulled down by the war between my limbs and my trunk? Will the underwear that sags in the ass still cling to my hips? If it clings to my hips, will my ass be too big for it? If the bra band is snug enough, are my boobs spilling out over the sides? If the neckline of my top looks right on the shoulders, will it still be too tight around my midsection when I sit down? If the dress hugs my curves, will it accentuate the bulge from my recently adjusted bra band and downsized tights squeezing my stomach? And don’t even get me started on the legs.

But the real mind fuck is the fucking mind.

I am approaching a size I have never been as an adult. The associations I have to that body are not positive. It was not a time when I felt safe, sure, or seen. I blame the grown people in my life for not helping me. I blame the people around me of all ages for not seeing what was going on. I blame society for normalizing the pressure on young girls such that the unhealthy ways they cope with it are easy to go undetected.

And I blame myself for letting things get so bad that it cost me.

It cost me my health. It cost me experiences. It cost me closeness. It cost me understanding of self-care and self-love. It cost me peace. It cost me good decisions. It cost me years of life I can’t change.

None of that resentment is productive. It might not even be entirely fair. But I feel it all the same. I feel it with the weight of decades and pounds of body fat that I did not put on consciously, but that I now am consciously taking off.
It padded me, but did not protect me.
It fucking hurts.

So I’m wandering around like an exposed nerve, hell bent on surrendering no ground on my half marathon training, because showing up matters to me. But today, after crying throughout therapy for the first time and wiping silent tears from my eyes for the rest of the afternoon in front of my work computer, I realized: this is not a knot I can untangle in an hour with a 7-mile run on the elliptical. Being low-key competitive with the people around me at the gym would not soothe this ache.

I needed to go outside.

It was nearly 60° today, and there was enough sunlight by late afternoon that it wound up being a great opportunity for my first trail walk of the year. It was treacherous; the foot+ of snow we got last month has not been cleared, leaving it to melt on its own. The freeze-thaw cycle and intermittent sun has created a soggy, muddy, slippery network of pathways that are clear in some places, frosted over in others, and wet everywhere else. The climb to the top of the trailhead was almost too much for my worn-in sneakers. With ankle concerns fresh on my mind, I nearly turned back; if the entire trail was going to be like this, it seemed imprudent to risk a fall.

But I thought, I’ll be careful. Maybe it’s not like this the whole way. Maybe it clears up later.

So I pressed on. I slid a little once or twice, but I was careful. It wasn’t like that the whole way. There were clear parts.

Then I got to this point.

And something about it struck me.

This was the thing:

Choose your metaphor.

The punctuation mark of this outdoor trek was at the very end. On my first venture to this part of the trail in the summer, I took a spill and did some damage to my knee — which also got infected. At that very same spot where I fell, there is now a 2.5′ x 4′ puddle of ankle-deep water from melted snow. The only way back to my car from there was either through that small lake, or all the way back up through the treacherous trail. I spent a fraction of a second verifying that there were no ways around the pool of melt, and then I trudged right through it. It was frigid and sloshy, but I didn’t care. A few minutes later, I was driving my soaked feet home to a warm shower, weighing the same amount yet unquantifiably lighter.

Emotional excavation is hard work. It requires a type of fortitude you don’t get by turning away from rough roads and uncomfortable obstacles on your path. It’s exhausting. It has no timeline. It fucking hurts. But if you keep going, carefully, it might not be like that the whole way. It might clear up later. You might even come out lighter.

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NEW DAY 235: 99

As of today’s weigh-in, I have officially lost an even 99 pounds since February 20th of last year.

As predicted, my numbers have slowed in the past couple of weeks. Some of it is because of travel and sleep disruptions. Some if it is the natural tapering that happens the smaller a formerly excessively large body becomes. And some of it is muscle building from the strength training I’ve incorporated into my regimen.

But I’m only a pound away from the 100-pound milestone, which I want to hit by the 11th.

This focus on a triple-digit loss by Wednesday is relatively new. I know the milestone is coming, just as I know the 100s are coming. The 100s are less of a fixation; that will happen sometime this month, and it will be the right time, whenever it is. The 100-pound loss is one I’m craving pretty strongly, and the date feels like gravity.

I do have a tendency to focus too much on the story, the poetry, the meanings of unconnected plot points.

In truth, I need no symbolism to anchor a 100-pound drop that happens in under a year or a big to-do for making it from a dark February 11th to a bright one a year later. Much less do I need something to tether these two big deals.

But I want it. All of the above.

So, just as I’ve been doing since June 18th, I’m going for it.
Not desperately. Not maniacally. Not recklessly.
But intentionally, and with all I’ve got.

If I miss, I miss. It wouldn’t be a failure, just a postponement.

And yet there’s something crazy enough in me that makes me think that losing a pound in three days is totally doable.

Let’s find out…!

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NEW DAY 230: To beach their own

Six months ago, I was in the same vacation spot.
But everything was different.

Then: heat of summer.
Now: dead of winter.

Then: north side beach.
Now: south side beach.

Then: could barely walk through the sand.
Now: daily runs on the sand.

Then: 70 pounds heavier.
Now: less than 70 pounds left to lose.

Those are just the easy-to-spot distinctions. It would take a lot more time to go into how very fragile, wobbly, unconfident, and ginger I was Then. Promising things were awaiting me at home after my summer trip, but I wasn’t feeling steady about them. I had lost trust in the universe, while slowly clawing my way out from under the pile of collapsed rubble that had been my worldview, and bargaining with myself to keep going.

I didn’t know why to keep going. I had taken the part of my brain that asks and tries to answer that question, offline. I just… did.

Running on the hardened sand at the very end of January was a much more meaningful experience than sunning on the gritty sand at the very beginning of August. It’s hard to compare two experiences that are so drastically different, but what makes it possible is me. I’m more different than any side-by-side pictures of the coast separated by seasonality. My seasonal changes are also visible, but it’s the ones only I can see that are the most pronounced, the most powerful, and the most profound. But the best part of all of that is the ownership I feel. I have rebuilt and reclaimed all of it, and used it to propel me forward.

That’s why in the Now, I had to frequently pause during my oceanside jogs. It wasn’t to catch my breath. It wasn’t to rest tired legs. It was to let the waves of months of emotion wash over me as I involuntarily recognized how far I’ve come.

I can’t wait to see what further developments come about by the next time I find myself on a beach.

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NEW DAY 228: I can dig it

It took more than 6 cumulative hours spread across 3 days this week to excavate my driveway. I cleared enough of a path that I can get my car in and out, which amounts to 1,000 cubic feet of snow. Now this tidbit that ChatGPT gave me when I asked for that calculation really blew my mind:

Fresh snow is roughly 7–20 lb per cubic foot depending on density.
That puts your total somewhere between 7,000 and 20,000 pounds moved.
That’s between 3.5 and 10 TONS of snow!

🤯🤯🤯

My arms, wrists, neck, traps, and shoulders were the casualties, with my shoulder blades aching up through and including today — and no wonder, given that information! Thank goodness for weekend getaways that magically include a friend of a friend who moonlights as a massage therapist and had no problem “practicing” on my destroyed muscles! Shout out to Advil PM, too. Oh, and heating pads. Multiple, high-heat, long-lasting heating pads.

I lightly complained about the aching, but to be completely honest, I loved it.
I loved that it hurt.
I loved that it made me tired.
I loved that it was hard.
I loved all of that because none of those things stopped me.

My body did it. My body can do this now. All alone, no help; just me and my determination. That’s months of physical and mental conditioning making a big ol’ flex. And hey, me and my determination? We know how to party.

I know it sounds strange to be genuinely excited about having to toil in single-digit (Fahrenheit) temperatures under dwindling sunlight to shovel snow. I’m not saying it’s my new favorite pastime or that I’m eager to repeat it. What I am saying is that it gives me another giant pile of evidence of how far I’ve come since last year. My body from February of 2025 would not have been up to this task. My body of February 2026 says bring it on.

This was a week of zero half-marathon training or even setting foot in the gym, which also included travel and broken sleep cycles because of my trip. What I got right was staying on track with my eating, even while surrounded by a smorgasbord of snacks and a gaggle of people partaking in them. (I mean, cake, cookies, alcohol, chips… you name it.) I also made sure I got quality movement, even on scheduled rest days that I strategically built in to account for this, so that I would meet my steps every day and not fall short on Power 11. Two mornings in a row, I went running on a frozen beach in 10-degree air, not only keeping myself moving, but deftly avoiding the patches of ice, the deceptively deep snow, and the slippery, iced-over seashells embedded in the congealed sand. My only real exercise other than that was hoofing it through airports and, of course, grueling rounds of digging up snow.

With that backdrop, I was not feeling confident that the scale would be kind at today’s weigh-in. I am driving hard towards my 100-pound milestone, which I want to hit by the 11th. I’m close, but it’s not a lock until it’s a lock — I needed this one to count, even if it’s true I’d be happy with any number that was smaller than last week’s.

Sure enough, the drop I posted was modest: 1.2 pounds.
But a loss is a loss.
And I’m 1.2 pounds closer to my goal.

I can dig it!

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NEW DAY 217: Walk on

Today was my prescribed rest day for this week of Power 11. It came at a good time; each ankle had its own special little tantrum at different moments last night, so it was a well-timed moment for a break. I did end up doing 20 minutes on my walking pad at home after work, though, to make sure I hit my daily steps goal for the day. While doing that, I had a realization: my balance has crazy improved.

My first foray into the world of the walking pad was back in the fall when I was doing 75 Hard. My first walk, and all those I did subsequently, were unsteady. It wasn’t so much a walk as a stagger, like that fool at the office holiday party who had more than one too many trips to the spiked punch bowl and is in no way pulling off the ruse. I had to hold on to my raised standing desk just to make sure I didn’t tumble off backwards or sideways, even for a short walk at a low speed.

Today, for the first time, I didn’t have to hold on. I walked briskly (3.4 mph) for 20 minutes with zero contact — and, more excitingly, zero swerves or stumbles.

It’s not just that my balance has improved; my stamina and strength have, too. I am no longer the spitting image of a failed DUI traffic stop when I take to the walking pad; I’m a woman with purpose.

Fitting, after a year of staggering through uncertainty and hoping — and then working hard — to regain my footing.

Speaking of fitting, I used my lunch break today to take a tour of my “before” pieces. These relics of my most-enormous size are the equivalent of snacking on grapes when what you really want is M&Ms: because I am only weighing myself once a week on Power 11, I can’t sneak a peek at the scale on days when I’m feeling curious. (There’s a reason for this: I’m trying to break my obsession with that number so it won’t become my whole worth. I say this while actively working towards a rather aggressive goal with a deadline that’s precisely 3 weeks away, but I digress.) Instead of indulging my curiosity, I try on the couple of articles of clothing I’ve held on to that remind me of where I started, so I can see how far I’ve come.

Today, I fit into one leg of my size 24 “before” pants. And after stepping into it (still zipped) through the neck, my “before” dress slid off my shoulders and right onto the floor.

Funny how that instantly killed any interest I had in what the scale might have had to say.

And so I walk on… with purpose.