"Rock On, Size 8!"

My paycheck arrived safely yesterday (woohoo!!), so in the afternoon, I set out to do some grocery shopping and some other errands. One of those errands was to stop at Old Navy and try on a pair of size 8 jeans. I've been wearing the 10s for a few months, and they're getting pretty baggy.

Last time I tried on the 8s, about three or four weeks ago, they wouldn't even button. But yesterday, they did.

I stood in the fitting room, laughing quietly and feeling the slightest prickle in my eyes. I could very well have stood there and let myself cry tears of joy.

It's been such a long, crazy journey. It's not really over yet, but the hardest part, I think, is behind me. I have one more appointment on the books with G. the Meanie, set for Wednesday of next week. I think I'm ready to fly on my own now, though I did tell him a few days ago that I'll need him to check in with me from time to time. I know I'll need encouragement and someone asking me why I missed a day at the gym. He's happy to help me there, just as he's happy with all the success I've had in this adventure.

On Wednesday we talked about my goal weight. He's never really set a goal weight for me--I decided on 130 pounds with B. the Sadist in February 2009 and just kept that as a sort of light at the end of the tunnel at which I was aiming. But I've shifted in my thinking.

See, now that I'm solidly in the 150s, I know that technically, I'm still "overweight." If you went purely on my BMI, I'm probably in the "acceptable" range. But if you look at what I can do physically, or at my overall eating plan and health in general, you can see that actually, I'm very healthy. I haven't been sick since January--no colds, no flu, just regular seasonal allergies.

G. asked me the other day, "So, what is your goal weight? 130? 135?"

"Really, G., I'm going to let my body decide. Who knows? I might get all the way down to 120 and my body decides that's a good weight. It might stop at 140. I don't really know what it will do, but I've decided to listen to it, and continue my healthy lifestyle."

He nodded. "I would suggest you work really hard to lose eight or nine more pounds, and get into the 140s. Then just live your life. Your body will slowly lose whatever weight it wants to lose, as long as you're eating healthy foods and exercising regularly."

After months and months of having G. stand next to the scale every time I weighed in, his attitude now took me a little bit by surprise. But then I got thinking about how well I'm doing--I can run, jump, lift weights, and I have excellent balance. I am doing athletic maneuvers that six months ago were impossible. On Wednesday, we did 100 squats together, and when we finished, I laughed and said, "Did you notice something missing?"

I received a blank look in reply.

"Think about it, G. Think about what's missing from my mouth."

He grinned. "No complaining!"

"Exactly!"

"You did those squats like they were nothing."

Fast forward to yesterday, as I paid for my new size 8 jeans and walked out of Old Navy with a huge grin on my face. I thought about texting G. but in the end, I wanted to tell him in person. He has celebrated every milestone with me, and will continue to do so even after next week's appointment.

This morning I arrived at the gym and didn't immediately see his red trainer's shirt in the crowd. I finally found him on my way to the Stair Master, in a different shirt, working out in his off time. He was talking to someone, so I approached and waited a moment.

"What's up, Megan?"

"Size 8, G. I bought size 8 jeans yesterday."

A big smile spread across his face. Getting me into a single-digit size has been something he's been looking forward to.  "Awesome! So how long has it been since you've been in a single-digit size?"

"High school, probably. I'm pretty sure I was in a 10 or a 12 when I got to college."

Needless to say, he was very proud, and happy for me.

Later on, he finished his own work out and we chatted for a few minutes about NASCAR. I asked for some advice about a particular machine that I've used with him, but not really on my own. After he helped me get started on the exercise, I thanked him. As he walked away, he called over his shoulder, "Rock on, Size 8!"

Rock on.