Success is...

I don't know what I weigh right now. But, for the very first time, in recent memory, I actually like my body. I look in the mirror, and I am stunned at what I see. I don't necessarily have a flat stomach. And my thighs are a permanent fixture, apparently. (Literally, in 9 months they have remained the same size, despite any changes I've made elsewhere). My feet are still a mess. And today, my hair was straw. But, when I look in the mirror, my first thought is: damn girl -- you are fiiiiiine!!

I've always wondered what it was like to feel sexy and hot. Sure, there are times when I've dressed well and I know I look good. But being able to dress for your body type to use the tricks and illusions of fashion to create the figure you want isn't quite the same as having the figure you want. Now that I've got it, it's worth all the work to keep it. I can finally relate to the Titan's meatheadedness. Despite turning his body into that of a Greek statue, he keeps going to the gym 8 days a week; just for maintenance.

The truth is, you aren't ever really done. I'll spare you the "it's a lifestyle change" sentiment. Frankly, I think we all know I'm too shallow for that. It's constantly chasing that high from loving what you look like. Friends, it's not that there's no such thing as too skinny (because there definitely is...particularly if you are a woman of color). What it really is, is holding on and being able to repeat that moment when you walk by a mirror and you are stunned every single day. It's a great feeling. I encourage you to give it a shot!

So, how do you come to love your body? You are asking the wrong gal. I spent all of my high school years hating everything but my fingernails. Ditto for undergrad. I spent the better part of my teens and twenties confounding my boyfriends about what body part I hated that week, what diet I was on, and my worrisome experiments with Xenadrine, skipping meals, two-a-days at the gym and counting calories. You know what we learned? That's not healthy. By law school, I discovered the joys of ordering in, and all bets were off! Hello pizza! Hello chicken tenders and fries! Turns out...also not healthy. Goodbye size 3 and 5 jeans. Hello misses sizes...wait...what?

Thus began my very first trip to Weight Watchers. I went despite my fear, and despite my concern that the ladies of BBW club would push me out of the meeting, chasing me with pitchforks at my audacity to arrive at a mere 134#. But hear me out! First, I am only 5'2". Second, I had no idea what a balanced meal was. Double W could teach me! And third, I just have a really really low threshold, because my self-image was so screwed up. So no, I didn't have 50 lbs to lose -- but did that make my 10% any less hard earned than yours?! Yes? Ok then. Bite me. I still paid my $13.95 and the meeting leader didn't discriminate. So, with the assistance of Double W, I got myself down to high school weight. But back up. Remember when I said I spent most of high school loathing my self-image?

Fast forward a few years. (5, to be exact). I have a crisis or two of epic proportions, and found myself in nearly the same place. For five months, I tried it on my own. But sometimes, you need to know when to ask for help. I went back to what works, aka Double W. For the next 4 months, I hit it full force -- I was on a Mission, and I was NOT going to fail. Turning 30 was traumatic enough. The least I could do was mitigate that inevitable horror by looking my best. After Vegas, it was time to fly on my own. I spent the next few weeks testing the waters, keeping my membership as a backup plan; but making meal and workout choices without my crutch there.

Today, I don't know where I am in terms of the actual number on the scale. And, back in the late 90s, they weren't subjecting teenage girls to calipers and other torture devices to measure body fat. (Thank the Lord for small favors). But I'll tell you one thing, I carried my new (and kick ass) bar stool up 3 flights of stairs all by myself...76 lbs and in a big ol' box. That? Is triumph. It was the next day that I caught myself in the mirror. So maybe, that's truly the key. I was never chasing skinny -- I was chasing strong. Watch out world...I'm strong and unstoppable! (heh. 5'2" and lifting 76 lbs. Just call me Mrs. The Rock).