Last Wednesday I weighed-in and have successfully made it to the other side of 210. I am now 208, and just one pound from the weight I was when I moved here. When I leave, I hope to be another 20-25 pounds lighter. Or as I should be saying: I will be 20-25 pounds lighter when I move.
After my weigh-in I am feeling pretty good. I have acknowledged the fact that I have lost the weight of 2 small children, without the aid of surgery or radical dieting. However, I have also acknowledged the fact that along with this weight loss comes a lot of left over baggage, that being my skin.
The more my body changes the more I am convinced that those winners on The Biggest Loser all wear body shapers when interviewed at the end of the show. There is no way their skin could have possible retracted back to its healthy, supple self especially in such a short amount of time. Those people have lost major weight. I have lost major weight, and that weight I once was (twice in my life!) has left a path of destruction. What I am saying is, I have all this lovely hang-y skin around my stomach, under my arms, and the inside of my thighs. It’s getting a little better, but as continue to lose more weight, I suspect it will be getting worse. It’s depressing at times. For instance, if I didn’t have that extra skin around my mid section, I’d probably be one size smaller right now (a size 12). Also, I have muscular arms, but when I flex my biceps you don’t just see my muscle, you also see the “flags” (as Oprah calls them) on the underside of my arms. I’m striped with stretch marks too. They are light and silvery but noticeably there. My poor skin. I want to kiss it and tell it how sorry I am, and that I will never be that unkind to myself ever again. Really. I look at my naked body sometimes and whisper, I’m sorry.
At this point, I could really be down on myself, but I have to remember that extra skin and some stretch marks are really nothing when I could have made myself diabetic, or when I could have given myself gallstones the size of eggs, or when I could have given myself high blood pressure that could have resulted in me stroking-out. *side note- a client of mine who is 2 years older than me stroked out last year. She was very heavy.
So everyday, I tell myself and the universe that I am thankful to have made it through this… twice. I am thankful for a body that though scarred, can propel me up a hill at 6 miles per hour, or arms that can pump me into a military style push-up or pull-up. Also, I look really damn good with clothes on, especially gym clothes. All my gym clothes now are tight and form-fitting and hold everything in, which not only feels better when you’re working out, but people come up to you all the time and compliment you and your new shape. So…yea. I’ll take what I can get at this time. It’s just one of those things that I’ll have to live with. And at a certain point, when creams or Pilates or whatever the Hell people do to tighten skin stop working, after this, and after I have a child (or acknowledge the fact that I won’t ever conceive), THEN I will consider having a tummy tuck. I’m serious, I will. But that’s a long way down the road, and I’ll think about that then. For now I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing and send the occasional texts to understanding friends with an attached picture of the wreckage that is my body. Because that’s what real friends do; compare our naked, imperfect selves to each other. Did I mention I have amazing friends?