has it really been two years? (lyn)

Exactly 104 weeks ago, I stepped on a weight watchers scale for the first time, and learned, to my horror, that I weighed 160 pounds.  For the two or so year’s prior, I hadn’t wanted to know.  I knew I had advanced into sizes I had never seen before, and I had lost hope of ever fitting into some of the clothes I loved.  I had never before dieted and quite frankly didn’t know how.  But I was determined.  And M was going to do it with me.  And we were going to write about it.  And I knew I’d be successful.  I wanted to look good again, feel good again, and not be embarrassed by every mirror I passed.

It took exactly 32 weeks to get to goal:  122.8 pounds (my goal at the time was 124).  And that’s where I’ve stayed, give or take a few ounces in between.  And while I am still aware of what I eat, it’s no longer much of an effort.  I no longer track.  I no longer weigh my food.  And when I go out, I’ll even have a burger and fries, or maybe even pasta.  Not often, but sometimes.  Maintaining my weight has not been difficult, as long as I remain conscious, and as long as I weigh myself every day or so.  I’m not quite as compulsive as I used to be about that either.

I’ve been thin for over a year now, and still, I am pleased all over again every time I:  put on a pair of size 27 or 28 jeans and they fit; look for a new skirt or dress and get to tell the salesperson that I’m a size six,  or put on a shirt from a previous season and know that the buttons are not going to pop.  The good feeling brought on by slimness never gets old.