How do you spell relief?

I almost didn't get on the scale this morning. I've been most apprehensive all weekend about the Monday morning weigh-in, to the point of wanting to skip it altogether, or maybe just put it off a few more days. When I used to read some of the Weight Watcher message boards, changing a weigh-in day was a common strategy to shake things up, and I considered that, as well.

In the end, though, I'm a creature of habit and I got on the scale and I lost a freaking pound.

Did you hear that?

I lost a freaking pound!

Whew!

The difference in my mental attitude from seeing a different, lower number for the first time in two months is huge! It's only a pound, but you'd think it was five if you could see how relieved I am.

And that truly is how I feel. Oh, and also motivated and determined and resolved. I wasn't going to give up and go back to where I'd been in January, but I was almost – almost – ready to accept that maybe I would be this weight and this size for the rest of my life.

For people who haven't seen me in a long time, I look normal. Good, even. When I go shopping, I don't have to buy plus-sizes [which never fit well anyway]. I can move easily and comfortably; I can run up a flight of stairs without running out of breath, and I can and do accomplish more plain old daily tasks than I used to, simply because I have more energy.

But I still have a mind picture of myself from 10 years and 25 fewer pounds ago, and that's what I want. I know I won't be satisfied until I get there. I'm very happy with the effort I've put into this so far, but the results aren't good enough.

Yet!

Oh, yeah, did I happen to mention …

I lost a freaking pound!