In Which I Lose 45 Pounds and my Lofty Ideals
When I started working out after Mary was born, I had noble goals. I realized I was dangerously out of shape when I couldn't even get upstairs without losing my breath. The thought of developing diabetes, heart disease, or even cancer scared me; I just wanted to "be there" for my kids. It suddenly became important to me to care for my body as a Temple of God (which, indeed, it is... see 1 Corinthians 3:16) so that I would be prepared to do the Lord's work. I told myself it wasn't about a number on the scale; it was how I felt that defined my success. Being slimmer would help me achieve my true objective, improved health, but was not the end in itself.
Now I can admit, I also was tired of looking like this:
Yes, that is me in April, 2007. To be totally fair, I was three months pregnant for the seventh time. But wow... I was "healthy" in the Urban sense of the word. It is no coincidence that my frumpy, dresses-only phase and my fat phase occurred at the same time. Further self-analysis will have to wait for another time, but it does feel good to admit that I can be shallow and vain, too.
So if you compliment me on my weight loss, I will smile and demurely thank you and stretch for just the right reply. But inside I'm thinking , "Yes, yes, yes, YES!" Feeling good makes me look good, and looking good makes me feel good. That's not such a bad goal.