Because I didn't think I could

When I drone on at work boring people to tears with accounts of my latest ridiculously long run, the most common question I get is “Why?” As in, why would anyone want to run a marathon. Why would anyone willingly choose to do that? Why me? Why now? Why ever? Why?

In the beginning, my goal in running a marathon was just to continue to up the ante burning more calories. If running burns calories, I figured running more burns more. I also liked the idea of having a goal to keep me on track so I wouldn’t just return to old habits and be in the Whataburger drive thru sucking down Dr. Pepper. I liked the idea that I’m headed towards 40 this year and that this is a great last hurrah to usher me into it. And I really liked the idea that my running was a road I was traveling down progressing from couch to 5K to 10K to half marathon and then full marathon.

Then somewhere along the way, all the extra running led to extra eating and I had to let go of the idea of trying to lose my Jelly Belly while marathon training. Then everything became about supporting the marathon training. Eat more calories so I have energy to run. Rest my legs between runs instead of cross training. I began to look at it as a finish line I was headed towards. There was life before the marathon and then life after the marathon when my normal life would resume.

And then the long runs got ridiculously long. So long they were super intimidating and every fiber of my being looked for an excuse to avoid them. But I made myself do them anyway.

And somewhere along the way I realized that it hadn’t been about the calories or the last hurrah or the path I’m traveling. All along it had been that I didn’t think I could do it. And that’s what had been driving me. That’s what had been getting me up off my lazy duff to haul my butt around the park on Sunday morning. That’s what had been seeing me through the last mile when my calves felt like Jello. That’s what had been driving me to not let my many complaints get the best of me. That’s the guiding force that didn’t let me stray from my path for six long months of training.

I didn’t think I could.

I guess maybe part of me was scared I would quit. Just like I was scared when I first started my health kick and losing weight and worried I’d quit like I had countless times before. That wasn't my first rodeo.  I'd tried and failed more than I can count.  I didn’t know if this time would be different or if it would be the time that  would finally stick. I wanted so badly for it to stick but those other times I’d wanted it badly, too. Or so I thought.  

And I have two kids and a job that requires my butt behind a desk 40 hours a week and a husband whose face I like to see and I just didn't see how I'd find the time or energy.  It just seemed like such a big and difficult task.  So I just didn't know if I could do it.  It just seemed beyond me and beyond what I'm capable of.

But so did losing weight.  So did any of the running goals I'd set before.  So I just did what I'd been doing all along on this health kick.  I came up with the best plan I could and just committed myself to following it.  I made sure the plan included breathing room for weeks where life would get in the way and reasonable expectations not epic ridiculous mountains to climb 7 days a week.  And then I plugged away taking it one run at a time.  And every day I headed out on a run I thought today would be the day I was finally going to quit.  But it wasn’t.  Again and again it wasn't.  And here I am with my marathon 3 days away.

Go figure. 

I can do it.  That's what I now know.  Because it's finally sunk in.  I know in the pit of my stomach that I will get to that finish line.

I’m still scared.  Scared of how badly my legs are going to hurt the last 2 miles.  Scared of how many times I’m going to have to talk myself out of quitting. Scared of how alone I’ll feel out there. Scared of doing something I’ve never done and not knowing what to expect. Scared I will be the slowest of the slowest of slow out there.  Scared of how frantic my brain will feel by the 4th hour of running. Scared of my toenails potentially falling off. Scared of blisters. Scared of chafing. Scared of using multiple port o potties in one day. Scared of how scared I’ll feel. Just scared.

But I know I’ll get there despite that.  This girl.

This girl that was 204.4 pounds a year and a half ago.  She’s scared but she’s going to get out there and do it anyway. By herself. One step at a time. She’s scared but she’ll see you at that finish line. She’ll be a weepy mess but she’ll be there. Because she didn’t think she could and she was wrong.

In the last 3 weeks I’ve been reading one last marathon training book and it’s mainly about mental preparation. My natural instinct was to resist all the cheesy positive thinking crap but I decided my natural instinct was to lay on the couch and never train for a marathon in the first place. So maybe it’s okay to ignore my natural instincts once in awhile.

It has a section about practicing concentration and the ability to consciously focus your mind. Again, I thought it was dumb but did it anyway. I downloaded a free app called Lumosity and do it once a day. It takes all of 3 minutes. I figure even if it’s a ridiculous waste of time, it can’t hurt for 2 weeks.

The book also has a section about thinking up things to distract yourself with while you run. So now I have an ABC game all ready to go where I pick a topic and then go through the alphabet naming things that start with each different letter. Then there’s a section about creating a video in your head that you can sort of play of what your marathon will be like. Mine is a long street stretching out before me and when that starts to feel lonely I picture seeing my husband and kids waiting for me up ahead and then I smile and run toward them. And I’d be a nut to not picture crossing the finish line. So I do. Strong and happy to be done.

And finally, one of the tricks in the book is to write a paragraph I can repeat to myself to build my confidence. You repeat it to yourself while training to convince yourself it’s true. You repeat it during your day to day life to reinforce it. And then you can use it as a mantra to chant to yourself during your darkest marathon hour. Even writing it was powerful for me. Because I’m a girl that talks to herself saying things like, “You can do this.” But the book encourages you to feel empowered and make it “I can do this” instead. Because the ability to do it is inside you not inside someone else. Truer words have never been written. Because no one else is going to run that marathon for me. Just me.

Below is my paragraph. I will be chanting it over and over again Sunday morning. I will chant it loud. I will chant it soft. I will chant it until I believe every word. I’d say it’s going to get me to the finish line but it’s not. Because I’m going to get myself to that finish line. Me and my own 2 feet. 

I can do this. I can do hard things. I came back from 204.4 pounds. I didn’t quit then and I’m not going to quit now. Because I am strong enough to do this. I may not be the fastest. I may not look great doing it. But so what. Because I can do this. And that’s amazing.  I will not stop.  I am a marathoner.

The Summer of Significantly Less than 500

On the last day of school as the summer loomed long ahead of us, I had big plans for things to do with my kids. Places to go. Things to do. People to see. It’s funny to be halfway through the summer and realize we haven’t really done much. It’s also funny to feel kinda sorta great about it.

It’s been sort of slow and easy. Our days are filled with quieter less photo op worthy moments but still fun time spent together. And I guess, after all my husband’s traveling for 7 months, there isn’t much more I want out of life than time together. 

Is there anything cuter in this life than your little kid walking hand in hand with his father?  

We got new bikes back in May and have been riding, riding and riding some more. We rode so much we dreamed up a big scheme we called “The Summer of 500” and started counting our miles hoping to get to 500 by the end of the summer. I’m here to tell you 500 miles is a really, really long way with 2 relatively small kids. We’ve managed to make it 40 miles. By mid July. I’m not even sure “The Year of 500” could happen.

Exhibit A that I bring up the rear a lot.

By the end of the 2nd mile, we typically have people wanting to know how much farther. We also have to field heat and thirst related complaints. The cure to almost any ailment while riding is hitting the Sonic. Amazing what a soft serve cone can do for your 7 year old’s disposition.

Sometimes we get crazy and order some tater tots and a slushee, too. I know. We get crazy up in here.

We mostly ride in the park by our house. We are fortunate enough to live near a lovely park with lovely trails and lovely ponds to look at and we feel lovely every time we take advantage of it being right here in the lovely neighborhood we spent years pining for while living in the hood in an old house with carpeted bathrooms.  I have nothing but warm fuzzy memories of my family’s time in that house in the hood with the carpeted bathrooms but believe me when I say we appreciate every lovely thing about where we live now.

Exhibit B.  Still in the rear. 

I typically bring up the rear on our bike rides in the hopes of wrangling the dawdlers. My husband typically takes the point position to head off certain insane 7 year old boys with a death wish that want to fling themselves out into traffic without looking.

Trying out riding to the grocery store.  My husband got to carry the backpack full of fruit home.  He drew the line at watermelon.

My husband also likes to try to set the pace for our ride. One time he started telling my daughter and I to hurry up. So I reminded him that the current activity was "riding together and having fun" not "finishing a certain distance and getting it over with." Dork.

We’ve also been trying out frisbees and boomerangs. I laughed hysterically when my husband took the kids in the front yard the first night to test the boomerangs and immediately lost one over a neighbor’s fence. The neighbors weren’t home and the fence was too high to scale. That’s called funny. 

Aiming with his free arm.  That's where the magic happens. 

We burn some daylight trying to throw them. Periodically we get one to come back into our general vicinity. Mostly we end up walking to retrieve it and laughing at each other.  And an extra reason to laugh at each other is always a good thing.

The ninja showing us how it's done.

We also located some frisbees to try out frisbee golf.  Two years after we moved here, we noticed our lovely aforementioned park has a course. My husband went to the ninja school of throwing and gets Tiger Woods like distances. The rest of us mere mortals require a several throws to get somewhere near the hole (which isn’t actually a hole but I’m too stupid to know what it’s called in Frisbee golf.).

The kids like that they each have their own frisbee and everyone is getting to throw instead of it being one at a time and boring. And I suck just as much as the kids do so even though their father crushes them, the rest of us are pretty even. It’s cheap entertainment and involves some walking. Thumbs up.

The frisbee golf course designers put a couple holes near the edge of the lovely pond in the lovely aforementioned park. I guess that would be cute and challenging if you're into frisbee golf and competitive.  But if you're the Clampetts out goofing off with your kids and one of them is a trainwreck and therefore likely to send his Frisbee to the bottom of the pond, holes near the water is annoying.

Exhibit C.  Yep.  Rear.  Still here. 

Because that pond is only lovely if I’m riding past it. That pond is not lovely if I have to wade into it or feel around on the bottom with my hand. Because when I think about having to do either of those things, it’s the nastiest pond I’ve ever seen in my life and I kinda sorta think I threw up in my mouth just thinking about the brown water.

I keep convincing my kids to practice on other holes instead. Odds are they'll eventually want to broaden their horizons though.  I’m not against broad horizons.  I just think we should find ways to do it that don’t set off my gag reflex.

Doesn’t make me a bad mother. Plenty of other things might. But that one doesn’t.

Tales from the Mall

This week marked 6 weeks since my 9 year old convinced us to let her get her ears pierced. She did some careful calendar watching for 6 weeks and has been one eager beaver for the day to arrive she could change out her earrings. I found this amusing since I knew she didn’t actually own any other pairs of earrings. Eventually she put 2 and 2 together and realized that, too. So then we started discussing when we could go to the mall to pick out earrings.

Technically, she did attempt to convince me we should shop for earrings the day she got her ears pierced. I deflected the request by pointing out she wouldn’t be able to wear them. The shelf life for that excuse was limited though.  Poor long range planning on my part.

We made the rounds in Claire’s no less than 3 times. The first time was a quick survey of the store's inventory to see what we were working with. The second time was to be sure we didn’t miss anything. And the third time was to be as OCD as possible.

If you are capable of spending 30 minutes in Claire's without wanting to try on some of the wacky glasses, I'm concerned you aren't human.  That is entertaining stuff. 

 kept myself entertained by trailing along behind her holding the ones she had picked up as possibilities along the way . I also did a lot of sightseeing. I’m here to report Claire’s sells a wide range of crazy crap. I guess I thought their customers were mostly 12 year olds. Then I wandered past the display of piercing related jewelry. My daughter just thought the other earring had gotten lost on all of them. I also discovered that Katy Perry has line of fake eyelashes.

I didn't realize I needed to worry about my 9 year old wanting to glue on fake eyelashes.  Super.

My daughter settled on a lovely assortment. 24 pairs in all thanks to buying a couple of sets. My favorites are the watermelons which she wore last night while we were eating watermelon. She tried to tell me she needs some piano ones to wear for piano lessons. I said I need “I’m not made of money” ones to wear when she tells me things like that.

It's not a trip to the mall if there's no cookies involved.

Changing the earrings out ended up being more of a production than I expected. The backs on those first earrings they put in stay on really well. I guess that’s intentional so they don’t fall out and the holes close up on anyone accidentally. But they were so snug certain people were paranoid I was going to rip their ear off getting the back off. We stopped 4 different times to keep tears and freaking out at bay. And then it was done.

Attempting to take it out herself. 

She’s still building her confidence at putting them in herself, too. I can’t believe I ever worried about having to clean this kid’s ears for her. What I should have been worried about having to do is having to change her earrings for her every morning. This morning was starfish. It didn’t even require a back on it and just slipped in. 5 minute operation. What on earth.

Still smiling because I haven't started pulling on her ear yet.

And for anyone that may have noticed I have less hair on my head in any of those photos, kudos to you on your sharp eyes. It’s not your imagination. There was some haircutting going on. At work I keep telling people I shed my winter coat. I guess I think that’s funny and I am incapable of just nodding and smiling.

It’s embarrassing to admit that I probably hadn’t gotten a cut in a year. I seem to make a habit of putting off getting my hair cut until I am full blown shagadelic and putting my hair in a ponytail all day every day.

The before mug shot.  I know.  Split ends central.

A trip to an actual hair salon for a cut and style was one of my mini goals when I first started my health kick last July. I never seemed to get around to rewarding myself and doing it. But I finally did. Holy cow it’s lighter and cooler. I celebrated feeling good about my new do by trying on some clothes I normally wouldn’t look at twice in my favorite new size. Size 8.  And it fits.

Liked the color but thought it made my chest look flat or droopy or something.  Didn't help there was a full on shrieking child in the dressing room 3 doors down and her mother was clearly just plowing ahead trying on stuff despite that for 10 deafening minutes. 

I didn’t buy anything. But then, I didn’t really need to. The new cut combined with seeing myself in a Size 8 is my idea of treat all by itself. 

Weigh In: This girl lost 60 pounds!

Last year in July, it finally dawned on me that I was overweight.  I was deeply embarrassed by how far I'd let things go and had a little come to Jesus chat with myself.  I won't pretend I had some big plan.  I won't pretend I had some rock bottom intervention.  Because I didn't.  I just realized how far off track I'd gotten and I really and truly felt all of the emotions that come with that.  Mad.  Frustrated.  Embarrassed.  Guilty.  And like a failure.  I hated where I was and something just had to change.

I didn't even think about how hard it would be.  Of course it would be difficult.  But, being overweight was difficult, too.   My pride would be glad to tell you just how difficult it was.

I was also scared I'd fail.  Scared I'd start and do good for four days and then lose focus and be right back in the Taco Bell drive thru.  I'd been down that road before many times.  I decided all that was just too much to worry about.  I decided to just not think about it.  I decided to just focus on one day at a time and one small decision at a time.

I started by giving up fast food and soda.  The caffeine withdrawal was nearly fatal.  I pushed through it one complaint after another.  When that felt less like death, I started trying to eat more normal sized portions.  When that became more palatable, I started counting calories and tracking them on my phone. 

I also started walking.  It was 100 degrees outside and I did it anyway.  But I didn't walk fast in the beginning.  I just committed to going out and doing it for 30 minutes.  Once that stopped killing me to get through, I decided to make an effort and actually try walking fast.   Every time it stopped feeling like death, I'd up the ante some more until I was hauling butt speed walking.  Then I dusted off my Wii Fit.  Then I decided to pretend I'm a runner.  If it didn't feel hard, that was how I knew it wasn't enough and that I needed to think of something new. 

Along the way I've picked up lots of annoying overly healthy habits like not shoveling everything I see in my mouth and drinking tons and tons of water and spending inordinate amounts of time trekking to the bathroom.  And I'm not perfect.  I mess up.  A lot.  I've inhaled crap I shouldn't including cupcakes and cookies and deep fried chicken tenders and lots and lots of Cadbury mini eggs that I'm convinced are addictive.  But if I mess up, I still keep coming.

Because it's not about being perfect.  It's just about doing better.  Better than last July.   That's enough for me.  If I'm just doing better than last July, it's a good day.  And I've had more good days than bad.  And my scale shows it.  This girl has lost 60 pounds as of May 3, 2013.

I cried when I saw the scale.  But I quickly moved on to grinning.  Because I'm ridiculously proud of how far I've come.

When I started, my goal was to get under 145.  Before I had children, that was a comfortable weight for me.  And by comfortable, I mostly mean it was a weight I thought was about right for my frame but that I didn't have to starve myself to achieve.  That's how I thought of it and I typically wore loose size 12s at that weight.  Imagine my surprise when I slipped into a size 10 before I even got to that weight thanks to all that exercise.

Since hitting 60 pounds lost, I've had a lot of people ask me if I'd done.  There are lots of super sweet ladies in my office that have actually insisted I hold firm where I'm at. I tell them I'm not sure where I'm headed from here.  I've hit the only number I really cared about getting to.  And this journey that got me here has me in the best shape of my life and made 144.4 lbs. look better than I ever remember it looking before in my life.  I never thought 145 would look like this.  I never thought I could run a half marathon.  I never thought I could run anywhere ever.

I've realized that there's a lot I don't know about myself.  I've also realized that's okay.  So is not having a whole big plan worked out.  I'm just going to keep plugging away doing what I've been doing and see where else it takes me.  For example, I've never done a real push up in my life and I'm consistently amazed that people wear bikinis in public.  I've also never run a marathon.  Who knows.

Challenging the things I thought I knew about myself has been good for me.  The quality of my life has improved including my energy level, confidence and the amount of time I spend per day with a smile on my face.

It was difficult.  But so was being overweight.  I'm a lazy wench that complains a lot.  If I can do it, you can, too.

Wearing the same pair of pants from my 204.4 lb before photo.  Two of me could fit in them now.

60 pounds.  The smile on my face feels permanent.  I love thinking it is.

 

Same swimsuit.  It's a slimming spanx kinda suit from Eddie Bauer that is now so baggy it would be wildly inappropriate to attempt to wear it in public for fear of the straps falling off my shoulders.

Return of the King

My husband has been traveling extensively for work since October.  He’s always done some traveling for work.  But this amount of travel was more than ever before and would have him away more than he’d be home.  This amount of travel made his trips home "visits" and his hotel on the road "home." The fact that it was going to be temporary was the only thing that prevented me from losing my mind. 

In the beginning, the heavy travel was supposed to end in February.  Back in December, the kids and I went and hung out with him on the road during school vacation.  I remember thinking that trip would get us through the New Year and that it would all be downhill from there.  Just remembering conversations on that topic makes me smirk knowingly at my naivete.  Because February came and went and there was no end in sight.  

From there, we didn't even get a worst case scenario end date.  I told my husband at one point that I’d prefer someone just come right out and say it would last a full year.  Yeah, a full year would suck.  But at least I’d be able to mark a calendar and count down to the end. At least I could make plans for when our normal life could resume.  But even more than that, at least I’d know what to tell my children when they asked why he always had to leave again.  

But there was no new end date. So I mentally doubled the first end date and started secretly hoping for June.  Hope is a dangerous thing though.  It leads to ideas.  It also leads to disappointment.  By mid April, I’d begun thinking about summer.  Thinking about what I’d set up for the kids for summer and what would work with my work schedule.  Not our work schedules.  Just my work schedule.  I was frustrated that there were things I wanted to sign them up for but knowing that with only me to drop off and pick up and see to all the details, some things were going to fall by the wayside.  I only get so many days off per year.  How many did I want to burn taking them to this and that?  Plus, we’d probably want to go see him on the road again.  

I started pondering things like maybe they should go stay with him where he is for a couple weeks in the summer.  I’d miss them terribly and it’s not something I’d ever thought I’d agree to or even contemplate but fathers are important.  Time with them is important.  And not just fun trips to tourist attractions.  They need quiet silly time doing mundane everyday stuff like brushing teeth or folding laundry.  My husband didn't like the idea of them coming to stay with him.  I’m sure it made him feel crappy to think it might be necessary. It definitely made me feel crappy.  But in the months since October, I've learned that sometimes wearing your big girl panties feels crappy but you do it anyway.

Trying not to smile while her crazy father sticks his crazy nuzzling nose in her face.

Frustration with the travel was ongoing.   My husband and I would periodically bicker over it.  There’s a an ebb and flow to it.  In some ways, absence makes the heart grow fonder.  It makes his arrival an event and his time at home a celebration.  It makes his smile more endearing and the warmth of his embrace more sweet.  But there were plenty of rough days hearing him tell me about dinner out with coworkers while I’m knee deep in homework, dirty dishes and the grind of everyone needing stuff all day every day.  I’d feel pulled in every direction and frustrated beyond belief that it was entirely outside my control and there was no end in sight.

My husband likes to say I’d take it out on him and that it was outside his control.  I like to say I needed an outlet for very understandable feelings of frustration and that I didn't even have the opportunity to complain to his boss or ask when it would be over.  He was frustrated, too, though. He missed home.  He felt like a bad father and a bad husband.   And I’m sure hearing the hustle and bustle of our household on the phone could make him feel even further away and lonely.  I think it must be a tiny little bit like being on bed rest.  Laying in bed all day everyday sounds like heaven until the second or third day.  And then you’d just like to go back to being normal.  Traveling a little can be fun.  Stuck traveling endlessly against your will gets old. 

I like how happy he looks just to be hanging out with his kids.

At the end of April, while minding my own beeswax using the restroom at work, he texted me to tell me his last day would be May 6.  I was zipping my pants and turned sort of sideways in the stall having just flushed.  And I stood right in that exact spot stunned.  I also stood right in that exact spot and texted him back to find out if that was for real and who said it and if that information could be trusted.  I also attempted to let him know that he should not joke with me about something like that under any circumstances and that I’d kill him if it was a belated April Fool’s type thing.  

Part of the series of texts that consisted of me repeatedly asking my joke loving husband to swear he wasn't messing with me.

When he confirmed it really was an end date and it really wasn't that far away, I literally exhaled.  I hadn't even realized I’d been holding my breath.  Holding it for essentially 7 months.  But I had.  And as I felt the relief pour through me I moved right on from exhaling to crying.   All while toilets in other stalls flushed, water ran, and doors opened and closed all around me.  All while facing the crappy industrial grey side wall of the stall I was in.  I stood there for a couple minutes in silence just acclimating.  I wasn't even sure where to go with my day from there.  Best trip to the bathroom ever.

I can’t believe I resisted the urge to tell the kids that night.  But part of me didn't really trust the information. I worried something would happen to delay the end date.  I worried that someone somewhere would think of something else that had to be done first.  My husband didn't mention it to the kids either.  We realized a day or two later that we'd both separately had the same concerns and held off. 

The last 3 weeks passed and I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Sure the plans would get changed.  Sure he'd somehow misunderstood the plans.  Sure my life would get flushed down the toilet for a few more months. 

But then one day he was home.  Arriving late at night.  Suitcases everywhere.  Toiletries again cluttering up his side of the bathroom.  And I exhaled again.  And I cried again.  And then some more the next day.  And then some more the next day after that.  And, even a week later, I still tear up just thinking about it sometimes.

Suitcases and the "We love you" sign he'd kept in his hotel room all those months.

I'm beyond grateful it's over.  Ridiculously over the top spring in my step exclamation points at the end of everything grateful.  But my cold black heart is still learning to trust that it's really over and that it won't start up again next week.  Some days I feel like I've spent 7 months as one giant clenched fist trying to hold everything tight and not drop anything.  And then I remember, it's okay to let go because it's not just me anymore.  I don't have to be responsible for holding the down the fort by myself anymore.  

And it feels good every time.  It'll feel better to not ever feel that way again.  But for now, I'm grateful enough to not even care as long as I get to keep exhaling. 

I could say something trite about how much I missed him and how he completes me.  And it would be sappy but completely true.  But I'm a big girl.  And he can complete me from another state.  Far more important than me, he completes this family.  And he does that a hell of a lot better right here.  Our life is all the better for having him.  Our life is all the better for having him home.  With us.  For good.

Unscheduled Fun is the Best

Some days are great for no other reason than that they are simple and spent together.  They don’t require a big plan for the day.  They don’t require an outing to somewhere exciting.  And they don’t require buying anything shiny and new. 

Out of focus but sweet.

My household experienced one on Sunday.   It didn’t hurt that my nomadic husband was in town for a change (Yeah!).  There was some laying around in pajamas.  There was some tickling.  And when we finally got dressed there were piggy back rides downstairs and giggling.

Getting swung around by Daddy makes her giggle.

My nine year old had attended a girl scout event the day before that included yoga so she gave us a lesson while the first cup of coffee was poured.  It included a demonstration of “the hardest yoga move ever.”  My husband is an Italian Stallion who hears “the hardest ever” and feels obligated to prove the statement wrong. 

What he lacks in proper yoga form, he more than makes up for in brute strength.

As if that’s not demoralizing enough, his little doppelganger plops down and does it effortlessly.

Love the splayed fingers. 

Kid seriously looked like he could have hung out like that all day.  At least his father had the courtesy to take a moment to master it.  The kid just popped a squat and had it down.  His sister was slightly in awe.  For that matter, so was his mother.  WTH. 

And then we rode our bikes over to the local donut shop.  The weather was great and it was quiet with few cars on the road.  We were greeted by the owners of the donut shop as the regulars we are and everyone inhaled fluffy, fresh donuts.  When the kids were done licking all the sugary goodness off their fingers, we rode home and goofed off the rest of the day.  Watched a few episodes of How Its Made.  Played some hangman.  Funyuns for the kids.  Hot bath for me. 

And lo, it was just a good day and all was right in the world. 

When you’re husband travels a lot, it’s funny how his presence is enough to make a good day better.  Like riding in the car and a favorite song you haven’t heard in a long time comes on and you crank the volume up.  And then you catch yourself smiling and thinking happy thoughts the rest of the day. Yeah!

Non Scale Victory: Sometimes size does matter

The scale hasn't budged much for me recently.  This would normally make me obsess in my head about what I could have done differently to get different results.  But not this week.  Because this was the week I finally bought myself new jeans.

Size 10s! And I got to rip the tags off and put them in my closet! What is the world coming to!

The smallest pair I had before was a size 12.   I've owned smaller sizes in my lifetime.  But I had apparently given up all hope of ever wearing them again and gave them away.

So my closest bottomed out at 12.  And I'd been wearing those size 12 jeans for awhile and they'd been getting baggier and baggier as I lost weight.

And the baggier they got the more convinced my inner fat girl was that I must have accidentally pulled a pair of 14s out of the closet. And every time I'd double check the tag and see that they really were a 12.  And every time my inner fat girl would be amazed all over again.

It was a fun game but in the last couple weeks the 12s got loose enough that they could go on and off without unbuttoning or unzipping them.  And then accidentally dropping trow became an actual concern and it was time to shell out for a new pair.

So the crew and I hit the Old Navy.  While my children climbed through the clothing racks trying to avoid the random objects my husband was chucking at them from across the aisle to pass the time, I picked up one of each style of jeans to try on and figure out which kind I liked.

While picking them up, even knowing how baggy those 12s were and that it was the sheer bagginess of them that had gotten me into the store, I almost picked up some 12s to take into the dressing room with me just in case!  I know!  That's just nutty.  It totally is.  But my brain just immediately went there thinking I couldn't possibly fit in 10s.

When I came out of the dressing room, my husband asked if I took a picture while I was in there.  Um, hell yeah. They're size 10.  Did I mention that?  Because my butt in a size 10 is totally photo worthy.

But I do!  And they button.  And I can breath in them.  And move around.  And smile endlessly every time I realize they are size 10.

Because that's what size I wear now.  Because even though my inner fat girl still thinks I'm a size 12, I'm not.  Wild.

I haven't worn a size 10 in like nine years.  I'm still 5 pounds from what I consider to be my goal weight and even when I weighed that goal weight in the past, I wore a size 12.   Further proof that my hard work on this health kick is paying off.  Tight fitting size 18s down to 10.   

To hell with that scale not wanting to budge this week.  I'm in a size 10.  Holla!

Linking up with ktjweighingin!