After the whole ripped jeans debacle, I'd been feeling an underlying frustration about the last few stubborn pounds I've yet to loose. Ten, roughly. Ten or so pounds will bring me back to the weight I was before I had my first son, almost two and a half years ago. The weight I was when I felt slim and sexy and could try something on in a store and look good.
Amazing how just ten extra pounds can feel.
Until a few weeks ago I was in a great routine of running - three or four times a week, and I could feel the weight shifting. And then, for some reason, I lost my enthusiasm for it. Instead of scraping together the last bit of energy left in my tired body and getting out onto the running path, I've been giving into my exhaustion and taking refuge in the sofa for the evening.
Which inevitably leads to feeling crapper and crapper.
And then last weekend I was shopping in Costco, alone, rushing through the aisles like a woman on a mission with my groceries, toys, baby sleepers and other miscellaneous things, when someone stopped me in my tracks.
It took me a moment to recognize the woman from my pre-natal class (from my first pregnancy).
"Oh hi!" I said, genuinely pleased to see her. "How are you?"
"Oh, fine." She said. "Tired, from work." She's a doctor in an ER. "How are you?"
"I'm well, thanks. Just snuck out of the house to do some shopping alone."
"You look great." She said, eyeing me up and down. "Um, didn't you have another baby earlier this year?"
"Yes!" I said, beaming.
"Wow. You look great."
Seriously, my day could not have been any more made.
As I pushed my cart with its random contents back to the car, I reminded myself that I've already come a long way in my effort to loose the baby weight, and that the rest WILL come off in time.
Now to get myself back out there for a run tonight...