It Starts.

It came to my attention recently, when I looked in the mirror, that I'd let a few pounds ("a few" being a relative concept here) creep on in recent years. Maybe it's been more than just a few years, I'm not sure. Well, I'm kind of sure, but not really. That's because it's just easier to not think about it, to not notice it, to not look in the mirror. But maybe doing the easier thing is what got me here in the first place, and maybe it's time to work.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not full of self-loathing. Fortunately I'm bright enough to know that my weight is not me. There's more to me - to everybody - than that. But like anyone else, or almost everyone else in America these days, I endure mornings when nothing fits right and everything feels wrong. I struggle when looking for special occasion outfits, though that might more have to do with my need for comfort than my feelings of self-worth, jury's out on that one. I purchase my clothes in what I call "uniforms," groups of the same clothes in different colors (but not entirely different colors because I like the dark colors better, or maybe I think they like me better. Again, jury's out on that one).

So what's a girl to do once she's acknowledged the obvious and decided it's really time to do something about it? That's right, she challenges her friend to a weight loss challenge. Aaron and me, a scale, a spreadsheet, and a gentleman's handshake agreeing that the biggest loser by percentage on Valentine's Day wins $200 from the other, who will also hopefully be a big loser. I went to Aaron's house last night where we officially weighed in and groaned at the number on the scale. But you can choose to let it get you down or you can change it. I'm choosing to change it.