Non-scale victories . . . 'cause they're the ones that really matter

Yesterday: "Are those new sweatpants?" I think I may detect a note of anxiety in his voice. I did just buy a pair of expensive running shoes, and my husband is the more frugal of the two of us. But we live on a budget, and, outside of emergencies, I don't buy things we haven't budgeted for. (And actually, our budget is set up to catch most emergencies as well.)

"No, they're not new. I used to wear them when we went to the gym."

"Oh." He's forgotten because they haven't fit me in a long while. And they are both bright red and cut slimly through the hips and thighs, so if they don't fit well, I'm not wearing them! But they do fit me now. Yay for recovering wardrobe pieces.

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"FEEL ME!" I'm standing in the kitchen, and he's two rooms over in his office. "FEEL ME FEEL ME FEEL ME!" Then I laugh, wondering what our neighbor must think we're doing. I'm standing in the kitchen with my hands on my waist, feeling how much differentiation I'm developing between my waist and my hips. My waist is one of the places I lose weight first; above a certain weight, my weight thickens closer to the size of my hips, but normally . . . well, in high school, I had the waist of a size 6 and the hips and breasts of a size 10. J. Lo had nothing on me. I'm not anywhere close to that size set or differentiation now, but I feel sexier when I can feel a greater distinction in my curves. I like being curvy--the curvier the better.

He finally comes into the kitchen and rubs my waist and hips. "Wow," he says, and his eyes widen. "I can feel a big difference."

My hips and breasts used to be perfectly balanced. Then I had surgery twice for ovarian cancer, and it left a ridge of scar tissue in my lower abdomen. Now my hips are always a little bigger than they would have been before. But that's okay--it used to frustrate me, but I'm alive, right? That's a lot more important than having hips and breasts that are the same size.

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I'm still sick. I was worse today, so I stayed home from work to rest. Tomorrow and the next day, I'll have days that are about 14 hours each at work. Ick. And there's no one to run that stuff but me, so I have to be there, awful cold-ish thing or not.

I had my husband bring me home a pint of B&J's for my sore throat, but I've only eaten about a fourth of it. I do want something cold, but I don't want something so fattening. And I'm not a big popsicle fan.

I think by tomorrow night my nose will be as red as one belonging to someone in a cold meds ad. Ick.

It's a good sign that I feel like I'm missing out when I'm too sick to go exercise. But I know missing a couple of days can throw me back into old routines if I let it. So by Thursday (once my crazy workdays this week are done), ask me whether I've been out to exercise, okay? (Assuming I'm not this sick still, anyway.)

Progress

This past weekend, I went bridesmaid dress shopping with my best friend--for her wedding. I fit nicely into the size 14 dresses! As I shrink, I have a nice figure with a small waist, and several women complimented me on how I looked in the cinched-waist dress I tried on. So I've gone from a high 16 to a high 14. (Size 14 pants go on me now, but they don't look good yet!)

Next, I'm going to share photos. This is a pretty big deal for me, because it's giving up my anonymity in some sense. However, I still don't have my name plastered anywhere on this blog, and that's the biggest deal, because I don't want my name to be google-ably attached to this blog. (I do have a professional life . . . and I don't really want this to be my reintroduction to an old classmate!) Anyway, one of the first places I show weight loss is my face. Here's a photo of me from November of this past year.


And here's me a couple of weekends ago (sans makeup, but looking narrower in the face):


Annnnd one more for good measure:


It's maybe a 10-pound weight loss total, but it certainly shows.

This is also progress: here's me right after I walked for probably about an hour today . . . and then ran the last block and a half. When I exercise, I turn hot pink and get good and sweaty--I am not pretty during or after exercise--but those are just the signs of progress . . . of me getting outside and moving my body.


And after I shared all the information about him a couple of days ago, I feel like I should share a picture of my husband as well. I snapped this one today. He feels self-conscious because one of his eyes--the socket and the lid--were shifted when he was in his car accident, but I think it's way less noticeable than he does. You can see where his collarbone is sticking up where it's not supposed to be. But really, none of that matters. Isn't he a total hottie?


Match.com, ladies and gentlemen. We highly recommend it. It's how we met; it's how many of our friends met their spouses or spouses-to-be (including the aforementioned best friend, after she'd been on Match maybe three years!).

And if you live in Georgia and need any portraits done, my husband is getting really great at them! (Photography is a hobby of his . . . as you may have noticed from my food photos.)

Enough plugs--time for bed.