You may have heard. I’ve been on a quest the last 7 months. A journey unlike I have ever embarked on before. One of self-discovery, a journey of self-discipline. Of mind over matter (when what matters is getting your arse to the gym to run around for an hour at least 5 times a week when your mind is saying why not (?) have that extra bag of 100-calorie cookies); of mindfulness over mindlessness (where one substitutes mindfulness with common sense and mindlessness with eating whatever calorie-rich, chemical-laden, preserved not from nature concoction you’ve just discovered in the not-particularly healthy aisle of the grocery store).
To quote John & Paul - it’s been a long and winding road. Seven months in and I’m almost 50-lbs lighter. “Almost.” It seems when one nears the end of their journey the road becomes more difficult and much more wind-ey. You don’t travel the same distance in the same amount of time you did when you first embarked on the journey. The last few miles seem to be the most difficult because one week you’re gliding down a hill with the vehicle in neutral, going 60-mph (where 60-mph could be substituted with 2.4-lbs per week) and the very next week you’re climbing Mt. Haleakala, full of hair-pin turns and the transmission drops out of your engine block about 2/3s of the way up. I’m just saying. “Almost” is one tough word. So are the last few weeks of “No Crap for Kim, the Redux, Volume IV, Seriously Gonna do it This Time, Get Healthy Because I Don’t Want to be 50 and FAT” weight-loss program.
But today isn’t about how tough the last leg of this journey is becoming. Nope. This is about how freaking fantastic it is to be a “normal” size. A size that does not require shopping in the specialty section of the department store (where the word specialty is substituted by the term “above average” or “plus size” or “additionelle” – how very creative). A size that says “hey, you fit quite comfortably into an airplane seat without the arm-rests digging into your hips that are spilling over into the passenger’s seat beside you”. A size that allows you to run, where once you could only walk and even then, not for very long without being winded. A size that doesn’t have your triple and quadruple chin walking in the door 5-minutes before the rest of your body.
Today, I am a size where I can bend over and paint my own toe-nails.
Did you hear me? I can paint my own toe nails! One little piggy at a time!!!!
Do you realize the freedom in this? The money saving? The “I can paint each toe a different colour and you cannot judge me” of this?? For Kris Kristofferson freedom’s just another word for nothing left to lose, but for me? Freedom is painting your own toe nails. It’s happiness in a bottle. Of nail polish. That I can apply whenever I want, without appointment.
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