Relativity.

Yeah, you know the number I mentioned last week? The one I said I would be happy to see this morning even if it had a ".9" after? Well, I didn't see that this morning. No, no, the number I saw was lower.

I lost 3.8 pounds this week. Um, that's nearly 8 pounds in 2 weeks.

::blank stare::

Now, I have the odd situation of deciding whether I'm getting enough calories (which I am) or if my body finally kicked into drive and decided it might be best to let go of the extra pounds. To be honest, I'm bewildered because it seems too easy. I'm suspicious. I'm afraid that my body is playing tricks on me and that my weight will jump back up. I should be excited about the weight loss (while keeping an eye on it to make sure that I'm not losing weight too fast for too many weeks), but I think it's the I-won't-relax-until-it's-finished thought process. That's not true either though because I'm sure I'll be careful with my food choices and calories once I hit goal weight too.

So yeeeah, I've lost 59 pounds. Next week, I'm hoping to meet the 60 lb milestone, as well as another personal psychological milestone. 15 pounds to go total.

To explain further the significance of this weight...

I weigh 35 pounds less than I did just before I got pregnant. (I must have really bleached my shirt because I believe that qualifies as whiter white.)

I weigh 20 pounds less than I did the day I married the Hubs.

I weigh 10 pounds less than I did when I met the Hubs. (Pic is from a few months later when the now-Hubs was going through his mafia hair phase ;) "Who loves ya, baby?")

I'm 5 pounds away from the weight I was when I was 17 years old and my lowest adult weight ever. (I will try to remember to scan a photo)

Yeah. Kind of surreal.

It's a strange process, adjusting to the weight loss. Physically, it's kind of amazing how my body adjusts, how my skin slowly shrinks, no longer needing to be stretched to accomodate all the extra fat it housed before. I noticed last night that the skin right in the middle of my tummy tightened up first ("tightened up," of course, is relative) and forgive me for this mental image, but parted the sea of loose, saggy, stretch-marked skin. You know what? I can see my stomach. You know, the stomach that was hiding under layers of fat.

I look in the mirror more these days--partially because I'm not used to my reflection and partially because I want to be sure my body didn't suddenly pack back on the weight a la Nutty Professor. ("Oh SPANDEX!") I was reading BA's McFatty post (better known as Blair) this morning and I could totally relate. Like Blair, I've always been tall and this has always been translated incorrectly as being "big." Growing up I felt huge compared to all my peers, even the guys simply because I was tall. (I was 5'9" by 8th grade and am now an even 6'0".) I was a nuissance because my teacher needed to have my desk adjusted since my knees wouldn't fit underneath, I was picked on because I was different, and I firmly established internally that I was simply awkward. That was just the way it was. I was sentenced to being uncomfortable in my own skin and I had no idea what I did to deserve that sentence. This made me even more awkward externally. It became who I was: the big, quiet, awkward nobody. Easily picked on. I was smart, but no one paid much attention. Credit was given to the outgoing, pretty girls who never seemed to know self-doubt.

If only I knew then what I know now. That Paul, who I had crushed on throughout 3rd & 4th grade, who would eventually crush me with his response to "When pigs fly" of: "Well that's easy, all we have to do is lift Krys up on a stick" wasn't worth the tears I shed over his words. And that he was blind if he thought that little girl he called a pig was fat. That people who pick on others are mostly hiding their own insecurities. That's no excuse though. There's no excuse for meanness. It doesn't make it okay. I feel like a lot of the responses kids who are bullied get are brush-offs. "They're just mean because they like you." "They're just mean because they're jealous." "They're just mean because..." blah, Blah, BLAH. That's. not. good. enough.

Anyway.

So many awful things said, so many torturing, bullying moments, so many years of feeling overwhelmingly uncomfortable in my own skin leading to now when I look in the mirror and think: "I'm not fat." I turn to the side. "Nope, still not fat." I can't seem to wrap my mind around the idea that I can be slim...or thin...I'm the big (see: tall) awkward girl who held herself back from really living life...aren't I?

Over the weekend, I did a double-take of my legs. I was on the verge of thinking that they looked thin, but even now, even after losing 59 pounds, which is no small feat, I wouldn't allow it. I concluded that there was something wrong with the mirror, it was tilted and my reflection was distorted.

I do give myself credit though. I do. My mind is going to have to play catch-up with my body, but I do feel a sense of accomplishment. I hopped on the stationary bike yesterday while Little napped and said outloud "I'm doing this" and I really meant it when I said: "15 pounds to go. Bring. it. on." because I am a fighter, I am strong, I will finish strong. I will finish.

While I can't undo what's been done and said in the past, my mindset is different now. I have a far keener sense of what's right and wrong...and what's just plain mean.

I realized something else while reading Blair's post and nodding throughout: I don't hate my body. My body put up with me abusing it for years and years with unhealthy food choices. It's been relatively healthy considering. It took good care of my little girl for 9 months. There are scars from mosquito bites, chicken pox and surgery, stretchmarks, freckles, visible veins from the extra weight I carried (and a predisposition for them), but I'm not looking to change any of that. I'd like to lose the rest of the weight, tone up a little, and I'd love to get my skin in check. That's it. I think in the past I thought that if I couldn't look like one of the "pretty skinny girls", it wasn't worth trying to lose weight. Now, I just want to be healthy. I want to feel good. Looking better is secondary. Enjoying shopping is secondary. Feeling comfortable in a bathing suit is simply for kicks because I never thought I could.

At this point, I feel like I know what I need to do. I'm just getting it done.