45 Degrees of Separation

My scale hit the milestone of 45 pounds of loss earlier this week. I stopped celebrating milestones a few weeks ago when I kept hitting them in quick succession. I feel different in more ways than I can count; at least this time of night.

Aside from being 5 lbs off of my surgeon's goal for my total weight loss, there are the little things, the "NSV" or non-scale victories as they put it on the boards that just keep piling up. I went for drinks earlier this evening. I use the word "drinks" liberally because after only 3 sips of my merlot I was three sheets to the wind. I actually almost fell asleep on the 5 train back uptown, and I thought I might throw up as I walked down the street avoiding the wind and rain. I suppose I can't complain really. One $15 cocktail in Manhattan will do for me what 3 or 4 used to.

I walked into Banana Republic earlier this week, and I didn't get that immediate feeling of self-defeat at the thought of facing the racks and, much worse, the dressing room with its ill-lighting. I was warmly welcomed instead of snubbed by Ann Taylor because I actually looked like I could fit into their clothes, even it was on the upper end of the size spectrum. I met with an attorney on Saturday who I hadn't seen since my father's funeral and he barely recognized me.

I don't see it in myself. I don't look in the mirror and have an epiphany of amazement. I feel it in my clothes, of course (still no belt by the way). I refuse to buy anything from Lane Bryant anymore, even though I could probably get away with the pants in a 14, though not the shirts anymore.

I was able to buy a pair of mid-ankle boots. This may seem like a small feat, but not for me. I used to look at those boots and their miserable zipper with the same self-defeat as a Banana Republic sales rack. But the zipper went up. I put my hair up in a pony tail and I don't feel like I have that immediate round head syndrome.

I walk past tight squeezes, through various people in crowds, through tables at a crowded restaurant without the pre-mind-estimate of whether or not I will fit or should find an alternate route. I fit a-ok.

In another week or so, I'll empty out my closet of about half its contents, donating my suits to Dress for Success, and a lot of my clothes to friends or goodwill.

In short, I feel separated from my former self. Those 45 pounds feel tremendous, and while no, it's really not degrees, it's a cute title, no?