I’m still not ready to make my scrapbook layouts public. I chose to take pictures with my belly showing, and it makes me feel to vulnerable to know anyone and everyone can see those. It’s different when I know my audience can empathize, because they’re on the same journey; but it’s harder for me to have people who aren’t struggling with their weight (or perhaps never have) see me exposed in that way. So, for now you’ll have to live with this summary of the first month’s work along with copy of my scrapbook journaling, below.
- Number of workouts: 26
- Pounds lost: 16
- Inches lost: 3.5
- Distance from goal: 74 lbs
- Favorite workout: Yoga
- Least favorite workout: Boot Camp
- Favorite new discovery: mint water
- Biggest challenge: Eating less than 1500 mg of sodium
So, um. Yeah. That happened.
16 pounds. Half inch off my waist. An inch off my bust and thighs. The hips and arms are being stubborn, but we’ll forgive them. One month. A lot of change.
First months are always big ones. If you make it through (which is FAR from a guarantee), it’s usually the month you lose the most weight. I’ve done this enough times in the past to know that. And while I’ve never lost that much before, I’ve also never had so much to lose.
But what I’ve gained this month has been something else. On January 5th, when I took my first yoga class, I was dripping with sweat within the first minute, collapsing on every downward dog and trembling through every pose. A month later, I find myself bending and stretching in ways I couldn’t have imagined before. And that transformation is as much internal, as it is external. A week ago, when the intensity of a boot camp class brought up all my worst body insecurities—when I actually had to fake wiping sweat, but I was actually wiping tears—I somehow managed to push through. I finished. I claimed the exercise back for myself. I let go of whatever I thought other people were thinking of me, and I finished the best I could.
I am, and almost always will be a recovering perfectionist. And I have allowed myself to be imperfect on this journey. I have eaten cheeseburgers, ice cream, and yes, birthday cake. I have also pounded it out six times a week at the gym. Sweating, panting, and yes, twice, crying. I have done it when I hated every minute of it. I have done it complaining and groaning. But I have done it for me, for my heart and for the life I now believe I deserve to have.
It has taken me so long to get to a place where I believe I deserved better. It has taken me even longer to get o a place where I believed I was strong enough to deliver better to myself. But right now, this is place where I’m living. A place where I believe I am capable. And a place where there are no expectations, no standards I have to live up to. It’s only me—being mindful, and dedicated to delivering my body and mind the things they’ve been begging for: nourishment, movement, and forgiveness.