Today, I’m proud…and quite a little sassy.
I’ve been blogging for a while about the difference in the way my clothes fit. And, of course, I’ll never forget the feeling I had a couple weeks ago when I wore jeans for the first time in two years. Mr. Scale may be moving a little slow, but April seems to be the month of NSV’s: Non-Scale Victories.
This morning when I woke up I realized I haven’t taken my measurements in a little while, so I busted out the ol’ tape measure of doom and started measuring. Imagine my surprise and delight when I did the math and realized I’ve lost a total of 19.5 inches off my body in the last 4 months. Ho…lee…CRAP!
I’ve lost an inch off my neck (do I look like Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson or something?) I’ve lost 4 inches off my waist, 2.5 inches off my hips, an inch and a half off my thighs, an inch off of the cankles…and a whopping 3 inches off Starsky & Hutch (aka my boobs). I’ve also lost inches on my arms and calves. Only my wrists stayed the same, but I forgive them.
I went to work this morning with a big smile on my face, which was wiped clean for a brief period when a guy I call “Slurpy Slurpersons” was totally motor boating his morning coffee.
But that’s not where this story ends, my friends. No, it is not. Sometime after I text messaged the Hot Mess Hubby to express my heartfelt condolences that my ta-ta’s are 3 inches smaller, a realization began building…slowly…in the back of my mind. 3 inches…hmm…3 inches…off the boobs….hmm….
I bolted out of my office chair and hit the ladies room faster than a vegan with lactose intolerance. I had to see if it was true. I’m sure everyone else thought I just had to pee, but I just needed to take off my bra.
You heard me. I jumped into the nearest stall and took off my bra.
For a little over a year, I’ve had to use these horrible extensions on all my bras because I’m too fat to even wear the biggest bra you can buy in a retail store. No one else knows about it, of course, but it puts a little ding in my morale every morning when I get dressed and I see that damn extension.
I took the extension off and tried to fasten my bra without it…and it fit. Easily!
It was all I could do not to yell “YES!!!” at the top of my lungs, but I didn’t want to run the risk of someone I know seeing me exit the stall with a huge smile on my face. That’d be a quick way to flood the office with constipation rumors. I did a little happy dance in the stall before I hide the extension in my palm and left with my head held high.
Every once in a while during the course of the day I would reach into my purse and run my fingers over that little piece of nylon-lycra…and I would smile. What an amazing feeling to be free of that damn thing. Amazing.
This may seem silly to some, but it’s a pretty big deal to me. I hated having to use an extension on my bra. Removing it was just as big of a deal to me as fitting into those jeans two weeks ago. Another little victory in the battle of the butt. These little victories are adding up.
Other recent non-scale victories: when I look down at my feet now, I only see boobs. It used to be boobs…and then stomach. Now it’s just the boobs. I won’t see my feet for a while. I also have a pair of pants that are so baggy I can pull the waistband up to my chest like an 80 year old man. Not that I want to walk around like that or anything, but I could if I wanted to. I can also take them off without unzipping them. These are the same pants that left a red welt on my waist in December. Sweet!
Even though I hated the bra extension with a passion, I found myself thinking of it with a kind of gratitude. No matter what, the extension kept me from having to order my bras from some specialty catalog that also makes tents & awning covers. I was happy not to need it anymore, but when I thought of just unceremoniously tossing it in the trash, I thought to myself….no. No. Homage must be paid.
I’ll be donating the bra extensions to a women’s shelter along with all my size 32 clothes…but the one extension I took off today will be staying with me. It’s a souvenir. It’s a trophy of war. It’s going in the Hot Mess Hall of Fame.
Don’t worry, I’m not going to keep it in the living room next to the family pictures. What a conversation piece it would be, though! No, the extension is going on my trophy wall…right over the treadmill.
With 185 pounds left to lose out of 219 total, I am on a very long road. I have never enjoyed the journey like I am right now. Time and time again, yo-yo diet after yo-yo diet, I have won little victories like this and just blew right past them. I have not shown respect for the smaller victories that will eventually make up my ultimate victory: hitting my goal weight. What is it they say about the definition of idiocy? It’s doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. Well, if I allow myself to blow right past these non-scale victories just like all those other times I’ll just be doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.
I’m also, as regular readers of this blog know, a true believer in having FUN through this process. And it was in the spirit of fun that I imagined mounting this sucker on my trophy wall like the head of a ferocious beast I killed myself. Victory is mine. And, because I was in the mood and feeling quite sassy today, I wrote a poem in homage to my bra extension.
Let’s all bow our heads in respect and reverence:
Oh little scrap of nylon-lycra,
Thank you for your sacrifice
You stretched my bra, you held me up
Your support was oh-so-nice
But now I am a smaller girl
The time has come, you see
For me to hang you on the wall
My first symbol of victory!
A place of honor you will have
For you have toiled so much
It was no small feat you had, dear friend
To hold up Starsky & Hutch
Rest in peace, my friend. You served me well.
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