First off, for you who've been encouraging me on my weight loss mission, I couldn't be more grateful. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you. So I thought I would share some developments and realizations that have, well, freaked me the hell out.
About this time last year, I was tippin' the scale in the low- to mid-300s, with a Body Mass Index in excess of 42.8%. This morning, I weighed in just under 221. While that's groovy and all, it's notable because this weight puts my BMI under 30%. So, according to Da Man at the CDC, I'm legit 'just' overweight, and that freaks me the hell out.
A few months ago, I posted when I could wear slacks that are 40-inches in the waist, but recently I've been rocking some 38s. And even they're starting to loosen up. I've got a pair of 36s behind emergency glass ready to go, y'know, just in case. I'm feeling it even up top, as my shirts are now mediums. One could say that I'm traveling back in time, because I'm wearing sizes I haven't worn since the 1990s, and that freaks me the hell out.
All the accompanying shrinkage is just weird. Last night, I saw a lady friend for the first time in forever, and she immediately decided to deadlift me. F#!k if she didn't do it, too. My mass-inspired confidence has been shattered for the illusion it always was, and that freaks me the hell out.
Lastly, I kinda let things slide over the holidays, so I amended my initial schedule to allow for the two-month sabbatical. But, by the numbers, I'm about 70% towards my goal weight of 170 and still on track to reach it. No lie. I didn't expect to make it this far, much less see that the goal line. So say it with me...this freaks me the hell out.
So ya know what all these means, don't ya? It means I'm off to the gym. Later. Love, peace, and hair grease, y'all.
There. I said it.
