I’ve been bouncing around — up 10, down 10, up 8, down 9 — for a few months now. Anybody who struggles with weight loss will understand how frustrating that is. You lose heart. You lose momentum. You lose enthusiasm for the journey. You begin to wonder if maybe you’re destined to just be this weight forever. You start to settle. Maybe this is good enough, you tell yourself. Maybe this is as good as it’s ever going to get.
It takes a whole lot of something to get yourself going again after you start feeling that way. Some uumph. Some gumption. Some divine inspiration. A swift kick in the seat of the pants, perhaps.
Like the other day when my four year-old granddaughter gasped and, in a voice filled with worry, said, “Ooma! You have something hanging off your bones!”
Naturally, I double-checked. My bones had looked fine when I got dressed that morning, but it was possible that something had gone horribly wrong. So I looked. Nope. Nothing falling off my bones, but there was a distinct and enthusiastic waggle when I moved my arm.
I hurried to reassure the grandbaby who was still looking worried. “Don’t worry, honey. It’s just fat.”
On a completely unrelated topic, I lost 4 pounds this week.