Mental Milestones

Yesterday I put on a t-shirt.

That's a simple enough thing to do. Most of us do it every day. But this time, this particular t-shirt, triggered an avalanche of emotions. A flurry of calculations, of re-evaluations of the situation.

This was one of my "too small" t-shirts. It was at the bottom of the pile, folded neatly, the way it has been for the 10 years since it stopped fitting. It's a Miss Saigon shirt I got 11 years ago in London, and I couldn't bear to part with it even though I didn't get to wear it much before my ballooning weight relegated it to the back of the closet.

I didn't even mean to put it on - I thought I was grabbing a different grey t-shirt. But it went on. Easily. No tugging, no stretching it over my hips. It just went on.

I looked in the mirror for a long time, trying to wrap my brain around it.

Because last time I was able to wear this shirt I weighed about 40 pounds less than I do right now. When I got it I was in the 170s, a senior in college and vividly recall I had just reluctantly caved and bought my first pair of size 16 jeans.

This was taken the weekend I bought it. (March 1995, age 22, 50 pounds overweight)

When I thought about it I realized that, even though my jeans are still in the land of 18/20, I have been wearing 14/16 shirts for a while now, so it's not so strange in terms of sizing that it fits since that's the size I was when I bought it. I am, however, marveling at the concept that exercise and weight training can make such a huge different in one's size that I can wear some of the same clothes with a 40 pound weight difference!

Anyway, this whole t-shirt thing got me to thinking about where I am in the process. When I first started having the first signs of trouble in my late teens I weighed in around 115.

When this picture was taken, August 1990, my mom was telling me I was too thin and my gym teacher was telling me I obviously had a weight problem (I had hips and the first signs of cellulite, even at 17 years old 115 pounds) and was going to refuse to sign the PE waiver I needed to fit PHYSICS into my schedule because she felt I needed to be forced to exercise (OK, tangent, it just still boggles my freaking mind). I suppose this whole paragraph is irrelevant, but it goes to show you what kind of mixed messages girls are getting about their appearance. According to the doctor's chart I was 10 pounds overweight for 5'2", but I think I looked pretty good.

Looking back at my figure when it all started, I kind of feel like the thyroid problem was a big honkin' cruel joke the universe played on me. And the mall hair, well, that was a big honkin' joke the 80s played on all of us.

I graduated high school in 1991 at about 120. This was taken for the pageant right before I left for college, weighing in around 130 and starting to freak out about a rapid weight gain that seemed to be out of my control. I was lucky the dress still fit.

What I'm trying to establish is this: I don't look half-bad if I weigh between 120 and 130 pounds. And, with that in mind, I set a couple of goal weights:
- 135: realistic for a girl in her 30s with a thyroid problem, the minimum I will accept for success
- 130: I'd fit into that dress again. I'd take it and be happy.
- 125: my ideal goal weight, what I truly think I could get to
- 120: my ya-never-know, maybe I could pull it off, but don't get too upset if I can't weight

My point is this: all this time I've been fighting with the mental challenge of having to lose 150 pounds because that's roughly what I gained. Anyway, before now it was silly to think in terms of "well, it's really only 135" because, sorry, that just doesn't make ya feel any better. A 3-digit weight loss is a hard thing to swallow not matter what the actual numbers are. Up until now, when I got compliments on my progress all I can think is: yeah, but I still have to lose over a hundred more.

Except here's the thing: I don't any more. I officially, unbelievably, go-tell-it-on-the-mountain, no longer have to lose over a hundred pounds.

That's freaking HUGE, people. HUGE.

I only have to lose 90 pounds to make my minimum goal weight! I know you're probably thinking '"Only!?" good lord, she's lost her mind, that's still an insane amount of weight to lose.'

But from here the view's not so bad.

I had no idea I would feel this way, but I'm relieved, optimistic... all sorts of positive emotions one doesn't expect when still faced with a 90+ pound battle. Turns out, for me it was a mental milestone to get it under a hundred, and right now, at least while I'm wearin' my favorite t-shirt, it feels like I'm coasting the downhill side of this thing.