People, I am free. After three long years and 12 unsuccessful diets, I have finally shed the clown suit. Lost the weight of a small toddler. The sheltie/cocker spaniel mix that lives with me. The oversized speaker that doubles as a lamp stand in our basement—and that my husband’s been lugging to and from various households since the late 1970s.
I’ve lost 27 pounds and 26 inches in just 40 days. And that, my friends, is the miracle of the HCG diet, and more importantly, of never giving up. I can honestly say now, without reservation, that if you stick with it—whatever “it” is—you will eventually find what you’re looking for. And it will feel fantastic. (Next up: The perfect white tee shirt, free money, a pain-free way to get taller, and the four-day work week…)
I can’t tell you how relieved I feel to have energy. Like what I see in the mirror. And to be shopping in my own closet again: You know, the kind that’s filled with a range of sizes (think Bloomingdales) and once instilled in me a sense of dread (think Poltergeist). Because the fact of the matter is, I’d gotten way too big. And as such, I’d taken to waking up every morning and wondering whether anything in the bright light of my possessed wardrobe would ever fit me…again.
But now, the demon is dead. Jo Beth Williams is at the spa with girlfriends and Carrie Ann is safe in her pink princess bed. And I’m moving with a spring in my step, shopping in the more petite section of my closet, which has been metaphorically cleaned. Jo Beth, you know what I’m saying. (Can’t you just see that little old lady with her arms crossed–hear her helium-inspired proclamation: This closet is clean.)
I think they’d both be proud to know (okay, well, maybe not) that I can wear things again – ladies, you know what I’m saying: Pants, skirts, tops, dresses, and even jackets that over the past three years, have not been kind to me. Like an ugly ex wife. A grade-school bully. Short shorts. Straight leg pants. Windows 97. Those do-it-yourself waxing kits. A best friend who refuses to tell you why she’s angry. Or too many hours on the beach without the confidence to stand up in a bathing suit OR sunscreen.
Now, these clothes are practically tossing me dollar bills, offering me manicures and pedicures, and inviting me in for tea and 83 percent cocoa.
Clothes that I’ve refused to part with over the years (finally some appreciation) in the hopes I’d someday be able to wear them, now look good on me again…athough it’s not lost on me that people are no longer wearing Huckapoo shirts, spandex jumpsuits, medieval wool dresses, leopard leotards, or pastel stirrup pants, but whatever…
I didn’t say I was especially stylish these days. (I’m sure once the novelty wears off, I’ll retire my Underoos and the hot pink elephant pants I saved from my teens, but until then, I’m going with it….) I just said, I was FREE. And for now, that’s good enough for me.
How about you? What’s freed you these days? Do tell me.