During our vacation in Provincetown, Cavin snapped a picture of me as I walked out of the ocean and back onto the beach after a swim. It was not exactly a Daniel Craig moment for me. Instead, it ended up being the straw that made me realize I simply had to do something about the way my body was going -- at 41, my window of reasonable opportunity to solve the problem was only getting smaller.
I realize that yammering about weight loss is one of those things that's often more interesting to the yammerer than the yammeree -- like quitting smoking, climbing on the wagon, or going vegetarian -- but screw it, I just weighed in at 189 pounds so I'm going to indulge in a little online happy dancing. That's all down from 215 at the beginning of September, and the first time I've had an "8" in the tens position of my weight in way too many years.
I'm a little giddy at the moment because I've discovered a whole "new" wardrobe buried in my closet, all the stuff I haven't worn that suddenly fits again. I'm resisting the shopping urge because a) I hope to continue the trend in terms of my personal downsizing, and b) it seems like an invitation to a jinx to get all shoppy-shoppy for newer, smaller clothes before I prove to myself I can maintain it.
Well, maybe just one pair of pants. That should be okay, right?
From one who recalls the dimensionality of the Sean Bugg who rolled into DC many years ago, congrats on the achievement. Now, just don't get all crazy on us!
Posted by: twitter.com/bigolpoofter | October 16, 2009 at 01:13 PM
Sean: I went from 218 to 162 over the course of about eight months back in the late 1990s. Sadly, there's no real magic; it's physics. Less energy (calories) IN, more energy (calories) OUT. Keep at it ... it is truly a wonderful feeling. G'luck!
Posted by: John V | October 16, 2009 at 01:05 PM