OK. I was going to post a collage of me in all of my cute summer tunics (I just counted and I have five of them, I swear), but apparently this one is my go-to when I'm out and doing something photo-worthy. What can I say, it was 106 degrees when this picture was taken and I was pretty comfortable, all things considered.
Anyway, you get the point. Of course, my running tops are not super loose, but that's a whole other fat feeling for me...put together my spandex running capris cutting into my stomach, which is already my biggest blobby area, along with a technical fabric top that touches/shows my stomach, and it's not a good mental thing for me. Usually I try to size up on the tops to minimize that issue, but mostly I try to focus on the run and not how I look.
Back to the point of this post (I have one, I promise). After a summer of enjoying the breezy tunics, I pulled out an older top from my closet on Saturday. Why? Because we were going to enjoy a steak and corn-on-the-cob dinner, and I didn't want to get butter on any of my nice tunic tops. What can I say, I planned for an indulgent, messy, dinner.
Our personal chef preparing the steaks for the grill. My "third child" Kevin came over to cook a birthday dinner to celebrate our youngest, who turned 26 years old on Saturday.
I put on the old top and glanced in the mirror, and was shocked, to be honest. I wasn't fat! It still fit. I know, it sounds slightly crazy, but trust me...there really is something akin to PSTD when it comes to having been overweight for decades, and then somehow managing to not only lose weight, but continue to keep most of it off:
More than five years later, I'm still hanging in there as a normal-sized person.
What a weird, random thing to reassure me that I'm doing OK with this maintenance thing...and is it strange that apparently, I still need an occasional visual confirmation that I haven't regained all my weight? I wonder if these feelings will ever go away?