I climbed on the scale this morning. You know, just to see how I was doing. And I stepped off. Then I stepped back on, just to check and make sure it was working. It was. My scale read 199.0. Three times.
I did it! I have shed 86 pounds in under 23 months and finally dropped below the 200-pound mark. I’ll be honest; I didn’t really thing it was ever going to happen. I’ve been dancing around it for a month now, dealing with a mental block. Rectifying who I am now with who I have spent my entire adult life being. And I guess I finally decided that I was ready to move forward.
It’s a funny thing, this moving past a big obstacle. I felt different immediately, walking a little more proudly, feeling like I was finally in the land of acceptable. Even the gym was different. I wanted to quit today, especially after the past few days I’ve had at work. I didn’t want to run 2-minute sprints at 6 miles per hour. But I did. Because not doing them was something someone over 200 pounds might have done.
But not me. Not this girl. I can do anything. Forty-eight hours of labor? Check. Lose 86 pounds? Done it. Pull out a three-minute sprint? Piece of cake next to everything else.