I’m deep into my psycho time at work and holding to carving out moments for exercise. These are fleeting when I’m not yearning for sleep (or just plain conking out in the recliner), stealing time to write or furiously cooking up healthy treats to pack for lunch each day. Yes, healthy living and losing weight are a life change, but also a commitment that the lack-of-time monster will whisper in your ear that you can get back to “when you have time again.”
So during a stolen moment on Saturday, I unpacked a few more fall/winter clothes from my trunks, including some pants circa 2001. These size 14/16 to 18 pants had become too small–pulling at the seams too small–but I still kept them folded and stored season after season. I guess somewhere deep inside, a tiny part of me clung to knowing that I could get back to that size.
Though the scale has been crawling down the past month ounce by ounce versus pound by pound, I wanted to see if my progress would show another way. Into each pair of pants I hopped. The size 18s hung baggy in the groin and thigh area and I needed to pull the drawstring at the waist. They will be too big soon.
And Eureka! The size 16s fit. Not pulling in the thigh. Not snug at the waist. Fit. Me who back in January was heading into size 22s. Fit. Me who had started to pant and sweat after climbing to the top of only one flight of stairs. Me, getting fit? Yes, and I honor ever inch of it.
Barbara McDowell 