I have been putting off my monthly closet purge. I keep saying I don’t have time, gotta work out, gotta do this or that. My clothes have been getting loser and loser and yesterday I kept tripping over my baggy, too long pants. So last night I hauled stuff out of the closet and started trying on. All the size 14 pants, except the smallest ones – too big – into the Goodwill pile!
Then I started pulling out the size 12’s thinking – there’s no way. But – half of them fit. I’m a size twelve. 12. One Two. TWELVE.
I was never supposed to be a size 12. My goal was size 14, which I hit in March and have been hanging on to by my fingernails.
Why am I so resistant to being a size 12? I was standing there last night, looking in the mirror and even standing side-ways, which I hate to do, cause that’s not usually a pretty site. Well, guess what? I have four good sides now. My stomach (in clothes, at least) looks NORMAL. Not flat, not Heidi Klum, but NORMAL.
I can’t stop tearing up. I feel sad and scared and not sure what’s happening. I’m not at my goal weight – I want to lose another 30 or so pounds. And that’s gonna put me down to a 10, isn’t it? Maybe – gulp! even an 8. That’s just too freaky. I can’t get my head around it.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want to be bigger, but I honestly think I’ve been slacking off on the exercise and eating because I was afraid to be smaller than goal. With the triathlon over, I started the couch to 5k yesterday and just finished an hour-long kickboxing class. I’m tightening up on what I eat. Oh boy. It looks like I’m working on being a size 10.
Anyone else zip past their goal size and know what I”m talking about?