Hello everyone, I would like you to meet my new friend, Goal Weight:
I officially clocked in at 135.8 yesterday! I don't know what I was expecting to happen when I finally got to my goal, though. When I went to bed Saturday night, I knew it was possible. I had been half-anticipating it to happen, but talking myself out of the hope, just in case. So, Sunday morning when I stepped on the scale and saw those wonderful numbers pop up on the screen, I was happy...but I wasn't as excited as I thought I would be.
It's strange, working all this time toward an end goal, finally getting there, and being somewhat underwhelmed. It's as if I was expecting the goal moment to be a huge fan-fare, like confetti would pop from the ceiling, and JD and all my Stateside family would run in the room, crying with excitement, waiting in a line to hug me and tell me how proud they are.
I think I watch The Biggest Loser too much.
Now don't get me wrong...I was happy, and JD was happy for me, but...I mean, we've been doing this for months and months and months and months. How does this one pound differ from the last one, really? My heart thought it would make all the difference in the world, but apparently my brain knew better. It wasn't until a few hours later that the disappointment of how normal my day really was hit me.
Saturday we had planned on going to see The Avengers on Sunday-having nothing to do with anyone reaching anyone's goal weight-, but when we got there, we saw that it was sold out. My mood immediately plummeted. Had you been there, you probably would have thought someone stole my dog. We both sat disappointed outside the theater, but I, myself, was completely and ridiculously crushed. My poor, wonderful husband tried his hardest to make the situation better. He kept coming up with new suggestions, and I just kept knocking them down. Not really knowing what else to do, but with all the patience in the world, he asked "so...what do you want to do?"
And I gave in.
"Let's go get some ice cream."
I had promised myself long ago that I wouldn't reward my goal with food, but it had been quite some time since I'd let myself indulge, and dang-it, if Marvel wasn't going to let me do that, Baskin Robbins sure as heck would. We decided to prepare for the calories with a long walk there (and that I not stop moving my body for the rest of the day), and slowly but surely, my seemingly bi-polar depression melted away. It was a truly gorgeous day, and Mr. Light was sacrificing his sore-from-HIIT legs for my happiness. It was clear to me how blessed I am. (and like my brilliant mother always says, "you choose your own attitude")
We got our ice cream, sat in the park, and I let myself enjoy it without too much guilt. But you know what? I enjoyed it in a very different way than I ever would have before. Old Jamie would have thought of it in a "this is the best ever, and I want to take a bath in it" kind of way. New Jamie thought of it in more of a "hey, this is good, but I don't need it all the time" kind of way.
And if that isn't the true end goal, really, then what is?