Losing and Winning

So, I'm not quite sure what's happened.  Somewhere, at some point, I turned into a gym junkie.  "Hi, my name is Melanie and I'm addicted to the gym."  Okay, maybe not addicted.  I took today off... and didn't break out into the shakes.  Now, my leg muscles do feel neglected and slightly sore from lack of use, but that's probably normal.

I love it.  I absolutely, truly, genuinely look forward to going to the gym, usually on a daily basis.  I've needed new clothes for months.  Remember "The Incredible Shrinking Woman" with Lily Tomlin?  (Oh my gosh, Netflix that movie right now if you haven't seen it.)  That's kind of how I look in my old dress pants.  But, despite my daily impersonations of MC Hammer, I have done nothing but buy gym clothes for the last month and a half.  Cute stuff, too.  I instantly gravitate to whatever corner features yoga pants, stretchy t-shirts and sports bras.  Purses that used to inspire epic episodes of lust have been replaced with trendy gym bags that could conveniently hold my water bottle and protein shake bottle and a convenient pocket so that my earbuds don't get tangled.  You know, important things.

I look at food differently.  I want things that taste good, but there is this voice in the back of my mind that reminds me that, although I won't regret it and make myself feel terrible like the stereotypical dieter, it just won't be worth it.  Except Reese's cups.  Those are worth it.  No talking around that.

I love what's happening to my body.  Really, that's probably the majority of my inspiration.  There are bones between my wrists and my knuckles.  I have a collarbone.  And it's kind of hot.  My calf muscles are awesome.  And by awesome, I mean smoking hot in heels.  My skin has cleared up amazingly, and my hair is as shiny as a movie star's.  For the first time since I was a kid, my knees hurt when I lay on my side for a long time because they're bumping up against each other.  My shoulders have definition and my purse and/or gym bag (mostly gym bag) doesn't slide off with every other step.  My jawline has suddenly reappeared after years of being in hiding.  My cheekbones are almost emerging from their years of softened slumber, but I probably have a few weeks until then.  I'm optimistic, though.

I love that the little voice in my head who used to tell me not to bother, what difference will it make, really?, you can't, you won't, you'll quit, you'll give up, you'll wimp out, you'll flake, you'll never make it, you won't last five minutes, you're not designed to be athletic, it's too heavy, it's too steep, you can't lift that, you'll drop it, don't stand in the mirror, you should have started working out years ago, is absolutely, positively dead.  I drowned her in my sweat.

I get excited about the challenge of cooking and eating within my daily points target.  Finding recipes and unique ways to cook makes me giddy.  Beating the dieting monster and losing weight while never being uncomfortably hungry for one second is like getting a gold star everyday.  Learning that hunger is my body telling me that something is missing and not a sign that I need to immediately shove something edible down my throat is an accomplishment.

So, long story short, I don't know how all of this happened.  Maybe it was the scale dropping on a regular basis.  Maybe it was the fact that I felt lighter simply because I wasn't bogged down with heavy, greasy junk food.  Maybe it was progressing from six minutes of absolute torture on the stairclimber to thirty minutes of dominating that bad boy.  Maybe it was my dreamy trainer.  Yeah... that's probably it.