New Beginnings

For once I woke up this morning not feeling like a frumpy old lady hiding in baggy clothing. My new attempt at taking care of myself has paid off in three months. Big time. I am unable to state I simply reached my weight loss goal anymore, as I have lost much more than I imagined I could or would. Once I set my mind to it, I lost a grand total of 30 pounds through good old-fashioned diet and exercise. I am a walking Weight Watchers advertisement. When one of my friends suggested I join with her three months ago, I never imagined my life would change like this. I don't do meetings, so I signed up on line and have been tracking myself. The eating disorder I have been babying for years that has kept extra weight on my body died a surprisngly quick death. All I needed was some sort of direction. Some sort of battle plan.

To celebrate, Shaena accompanied me to the neighborhood tattoo/piercing parlor Friday, and I chose a small, bejeweled stud for my navel. Even through I have four holes through my ears, they were placed eons ago in a jewelry store. I don't recall setting foot in a tattoo parlor before. I sat on a sparkly red bench in the sunlight streaming through a window draped with plastic stars while a couple very quiet, hip-looking, nervous young women stared at me, likely wondering what in the Sam Hill a woman my age was doing in a place like that. A very voluptuous, liberally studded young thing invited me back into a room with many windows and had me lie on a table that brought back brief but unpleasant medical memories. The young things looked on through the doorway as I lifted my shirt slightly and she examined my stomach. She stood me up in front of a mirror and marked on me with a purple ink pen before inviting me to relax again on the table and placing drapes around my freakishly deep belly button, talking nonstop through the whole procedure. I am unable to tell you exactly what happened next, as I decided to stare at the ceiling. Shaena stood at my side and watched clamps placed on my flesh, which I found quite uncomfortable. I was told to take a deep breath in and then slowly exhale, at which time she apparently pushed a giant, hooked needle through me without any sort of warning (or anesthesia) whatsoever.

AHHHHHHH, KELLY CLARKSON!

I felt a strange rush of warmth to my stomach, as if I had just consumed a shot of tequila. I pondered exactly what was happening to me physiologically. My body seemed to be under the impression I was wounded, but the sensation quickly passed, and I stood up. Done.

I was off to a fajita dinner with unbuttoned britches.

Today I turn 37. I feel pretty good about that because I feel like I'm healthy once again and I'm ready to let the world see me just a little more. I am over 10 pounds lighter than when I became pregnant and weigh about what I did when I walked down the aisle with sparkling hopes and dreams from the implied promise of a perfect life waiting for me. In a way, I feel like I'm starting over and stealing some of those hopes and dreams back. My innocence is long gone now, and I am old enough to know that life isn't as perfect as I once hoped. I can accept that, for the most part. At least I'm learning to.

I have new strength and a pretty, new battle scar.

Bring it on.