Although I've lost over 50 pounds so far, there are days when things don't seem all that different than before I started losing weight. Today wasn't one of those days.
As I was preparing to go to the Giants game with my husband, one of the things I wanted to do was make sure I had on good, sturdy shoes so I could walk around without discomfort. Automatically, I went through the routine of tying my shoes, leaning down toward my feet, taking the laces in hand and looping them around. As I finished the bow on the second shoe, I was astonished to realize I was comfortably tying them without gasping for air or having to put my foot out at an angle in order to be able to reach the laces.
Amazed, I sat for a moment on the dining room chair, thinking about what had changed. It's not that I have become all that more flexible since beginning to lose weight, although I have definitely improved in my flexibility. No, the real difference was the lack of bulk in my mid-section when I bent over, sitting on a dining room chair, and reached down to my feet. Even more amazing was the fact that the situation was so ordinary-feeling that I didn't even notice until I was almost completely done tying my second shoe! Small miracles...
As Mike and I approached the entrance to AT&T Park, a familiar anticipatory cringe rippled through me as I thought about going through the turnstiles. They're small, I thought to myself, and I always have to squeeze through them. I began to feel embarrassed, thinking about how I would need to turn to the side and stand up on my tippy-toes in order to force my body through the narrow opening. My brain was working overtime preparing me for the humiliation, when I stopped to have my purse checked by the gate guard. Then I looked at the turnstiles. Really looked at them. They looked small, just like I remembered, but a small voice in the back of my head reminded me, "You're smaller now too, you know." With that thought, I took a deep breath and plunged forward. Bravely, I faced the turnstile head-on, and pushed my way through without going on my tippy-toes. As I finished going through the gate, a broad grin grew on my face.
Mike had gotten several feet ahead of me, then turned around, realizing I wasn't right behind him. He paused in the middle of his sentence, looking at the grin on my face, and said, "What? I think I missed something."
I nodded, the grin getting even wider so it might have cracked my face in half. "I walked through the turnstile straight on, without even feeling squeezed!"
The grin on Mike's face echoed my own, and he leaned over to give me a kiss. "Congratulations, sweetie. I'm proud of you."
I'm proud of me too. I've worked hard for moments like these, and I hope to God I never forget them.