I got on the scales this morning and read the digital numbers with a contentment I don’t normally associate with mornings. Over the course of the last few months I have dropped more than the official checked-baggage allowance on RyanAir. I am 16 kg lighter than I was (that’s about 35 lbs or 2.5 stone) and for the life of me I cannot figure out how I could have carried all that extra weight and not known it.
Yes, yes, of course I knew it – but I didn’t really get it. While some part of my intelligent self knew that my heart would thank me if I lost some poundage, as would my back and my knees, I’ve never had the motivation to do so. And therein lies the crux of it all – I had to want to change – and I didn’t. Until recently.
I can’t remember what the catalyst was. I can’t put my finger on what started me down this road. Perhaps it was yet another photo of me that I hated? Or being out of breath having climbed the stairs? Or slipping into the size 18 range? Whatever it was, it worked. I never thought I’d ever see the day when I would enjoy exercise. Yes, enjoy! Me – that great believer in Churchill’s philosophy: never run when you can walk, never stand when you can sit, never sit when you can lie down. Now I look forward to being put through my paces by the inimitable Young Malcolm twice a week. Diet and exercise, two words I despised, have come home to roost.
As I continue to grow out of my wardrobe, I allow myself the luxury of enjoying the occasional compliment – another big change. Six months ago, I’d have been cringing at the attention. But the lost pounds are being replaced by a graciousness I’ve come to enjoy. Is this what maturity looks like? Today I’ve got my walk on. I feel more alive than I have done in years and while those same years advance and the big 50 peeps over the horizon, it’s younger I’m getting.
The chosen few, those honest enough to tell me to my face that my face is aging, are on point duty. The minute the weight loss starts to age me, I stop. In the grand scheme of things, everything else being equal, I’d prefer to look younger than to fit into a size 12. But it’s nice to have the choice.
This week seems to have gone on forever. It’s been busy every which way – and I’m grateful that I’ve been able to keep up. I’m grateful, too, to the encouragers, the motivators, the compliment givers … keep ’em coming 🙂