My clothes don’t fit.

My suit jackets look funny on me, like I’m playing dress-up in someone else’s outfit.  My skirts hit my legs in unflattering places.  I put on an article of clothing that once fit perfectly and then immediately have to whip it off to stare in disbelief at the tag.

My freaking glasses don’t even sit on my face right.

And yet, as I look in the mirror at the hot mess that is me, as I return to my closet for the second, third, fourth time for something that will look remotely presentable, there is a smile on my face.

Almost all of my clothes are too big.

And yet, as I pack up everything in my closet to get ready for our big move, I am having a hard time letting of the sizes I once wore. I’ve been back and forth so many times over the past few years, a part of me wonders if I will need to wear them again. (Another part of me wouldn’t shed a tear if these clothes burned to ash in a fire.) I know I should leave the past behind and walk boldly into the future, but I’m a little wary.

I am roughly 8 pounds away from my goal weight. I started this journey 39 pounds away. I have run two races (a 5k and a 5-miler) and will be doing a third in two weeks.  I can eye-ball a half cup of quinoa like a professional. I crave fresh strawberries.  The thought of anything smothered in gravy makes me slightly nauseous.

There is still a part of me, though, that can wolf down a handful of miniature Reese’s cups without even blinking.  I still dread running days. (And strength training days. And core workout days.) I take swigs of high fructose corn syrup disguised as “juice” instead of water when I’m really, really thirsty.

I thought the point of this journey was changing my lifestyle to be more physically fit, to stop feeling so frumpy, to become as attractive to myself as my husband continually insists I am to him. I was wrong though.  Because I am more physically fit, and I feel pretty, and sometimes even (gasp!) sexy. But I am finding that, even having reached those goals, I haven’t reached my final destination.

This journey is about not looking at the past as something to kill, suppress, bury.  The “old” me wasn’t irresponsible or without discipline. Just like my old clothes aren’t ugly. They used to fit once; they just don’t anymore. The way I used to look at food (and still do at times) and exercise (ditto) worked for me once, but doesn’t anymore. There will be times when I will look at the comforts of my old ways with nostalgia, and maybe even indulge here and there, but it will be like putting on my too-big jeans. Good for a laugh, but most certainly not permanent.

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