Rock Star

Last night, I pulled out my old size 18 jeans.

As the weight falls off, I've sent many a piece of clothing to Goodwill, but those size 18 jeans (Old Navy Womens The Sweetheart Boot-Cut Jeans) were tucked away into Dad's old footlocker with assorted cards, letters, old diaries and my old high school letter jacket. I am always going to keep them, as a reminder that I never, ever, EVER want to go back to being 5'2" and 220 pounds. Ever.

I mean ever.

I bought size 10 jeans on the weekend, so last night, I was interested to see how the old 18s would look. I stood in front of my mirrored closet doors in the 2nd bedroom for about 15 minutes, giggling and scaring the cats with my mirth. The jeans won't stay up. I swim in them. It's absolutely amazing.

I tucked them into my gym bag, thinking, "G's gotta see this."

Today when I arrived at the gym after work, I saw him working with one of the gym counselors--the girl who signed me up for training with him back in December. I walked over and pointed at the jeans I was wearing, holding up my splayed fingers triumphantly when he called out, "Hey Megan, what size are those jeans?"

"But I have something even better you have to see," I said, setting my gym bag down on a bench. I dug out the 18s and held them up. Then I watched G's jaw drop to the ground.

"Size 18. This is where I started."

G. has only known me since December, and I was wearing a 14 then, maybe leaning closer to the 16 end of things.

A huge smile broke out on his face and he held his hand up for a high five. We marvelled at how far I've come.

Before I set off on my run, I weighed in. 165! I was 167 on Monday. I scurried off to tell G., who was quite pleased.

"But why do you always weigh without me and spoil it for me?!"

"Curiosity!"

I had to do a big long run today--I haven't run since Monday because of the rain and my new-found hatred of the treadmill. I set off from the gym and ran about four miles. When I got back, I gathered my things from my locker and walked back over to the scale. There goes that curiosity again. And while I know that I sweat off a lot of water weight in that run, I was thrilled to weigh in at 163. Goin' down, people!

I decided I had to show off my jeans to B. the Gym Manager and three counselors that were at their desks. I held them up and watched everyone's jaws drop. B. said, "Put them on!" So I slipped them on over my leggings and laughed as they all just stared, shook their heads and said, "Wow...awesome."

Tonight I find myself emailing my after pics to both G. and B. so they can show me off (I guess I sell training). And I post them here, with huge pride. I've worked my ass off--literally!

Meg in 2007 (that's my brother Aaron and I at a family reunion in Utah):

Meg, about 20 minutes ago:

I am a rock star.