I haven’t written or really even talked about it much, but I’ve lost some weight over the past year.
It’s just something I’ve been working on… eating less, exercising more. It’s not the center of my life and I tend to brush people off when they notice.
When asked “have you lost weight?” I respond with a quick, “Oh a little bit maybe” and change the subject.
Part of it is that I don’t want to become one of those people who can only think and talk about weight loss.
You know the type. The ones who announce every single pound they’ve lost and yard they’ve jogged like they expect a medal.
Another reason I’ve been mum (until now) is that I want to lose more. I figure can’t really brag or gloat when I’m only halfway to my goal.
I also tend to be unsentimental about these type of things. Like I said, it’s just something I’m working on.
Because of my matter-of-fact, don’t-talk-about-it approach to losing weight, I didn’t have any reason to expect that I’d get all emotional when I went clothes shopping last week.
Then I pulled on a pair of pants. The smallest pair of pants I’ve ever worn in my adult life. A pair of pants that wasn’t from the “woman’s” (aka the fat lady) section of the store.
And I got a little weepy.
It was probably surprise more than anything else.
Or maybe I really am more sentimental than I thought.
Either way, it felt pretty damn good.