“How many days are there in 10 weeks,” I asked Google.

“70”, she replied.

Then I thought about how I didn’t know what 7 x 10 was and felt silly. BUT.

70 days. I mean, it only rained for 40, right? 40 days and 40 nights? 70 seems like a long, long time to have avoided sugar, and flour, and salt as best as possible. To only have three “treat meals”. To bake cakes without licking my fingers, to run off apple pies and crisps and fritters without snagging a taste.

But. Is it worth it? That’s always the question. But. Is it worth it?

For the years that I spent justifying poor eating habits, under the guise “you only live once”, or “the day I weight my food, take me to pasture”, denying myself some of these simpler pleasures has become one out of necessity. And as the scale falls, I’m reminded that I’m not denying anything. In fact, I’m recognizing what happened that got me to this point. And instead I’m learning what it means to eat correctly that I can enjoy those luxuries, while staying healthy. I’m not becoming a slave to the scale – I’m becoming accountable to my choices. That’s a far better perspective on my situation. I’m a student of the scale, not dying by the sword of it.

This week, I watched the numbers drop below 200. For the first time since January, I saw the scale reflect beyond a “glimmer” of hope. This time, I cinched the hurdle I’d been hoping to cross. I was finally getting into the numbers I was hovering around pre-COVID, pre-overmedicating, pre-depressed-state-of-sadness. Jan asked how much I weighed when we met. I’m about two or three pounds off from where I was last October. And that was where I’d been nestled since about March, when I quit smoking. This is the first real step to truly feeling like I’m “back in my old skin”.

Now the real work starts.

As my body had grown accustomed to a pendulum of high 180s and low 190s for at least the last, gosh, five or six years, it’s now going to take some monumental effort to convince it that we should keep pushing. Remember – at 185, my ENT doctor told me my “obesity” had contributed to my Sleep Apnea. He said he was confident that if I successfully quit smoking, and dropped at least thirty pounds, I’d be on the road to curing this condition without the need of surgery. This rattles around in my brain all the time. Dropping that kind of weight meant I needed to get down to the 150s, at least.

150. What would that even look like on me?

I was 120 when I became pregnant with Kid A. I was 18, I had no boobs, and no hips. I’m fairly confident I didn’t have an ass, either. The lowest I dropped after my pregnancies was approximately 150ish, and that was just before Kid B came barreling into the picture in all his near-10lb glory.

And while I can see on the scale that the weight is falling off, it’s more the places of my body that’s chosen to scale back the fat that really has me in wonderment. I don’t fit my rings again. How ridiculous. I’m on my third set of rings since the weight loss began. And Jan is planning to head out again ahead of next weekend to pick up more. (And this is why we buy my rings from Walmart.)

September Care is here. I find comfort in routines, and baking, and cleaning, and nesting. New seasons bring this out in me. My family is finding out just how much.

But much more than just losing weight did Week 10 bring. After months of searching, praying, wondering, considering, opting, and finally conceding, I made the leap to quit my job in radio. Even just writing the words seems scary, but in that rollercoaster-first-hill sort of way.

Finding Jan meant mending my heart.

Losing the weight and taking control of my health meant mending my body.

Leaving behind radio for a brand new challenge meant I was ready to mend my soul.

I’ve never been able to sit still. I’m always learning, growing, wondering. I am a student of the universe. I want to see it all, touch it all. I want to understand it all. I want to try it all. I’m never content to just lay in comfort. I have to pack up, and keep moving. And that’s what this new challenge has presented me. It’s an entirely different field from what I’m doing now. It’s working with people (whereas in radio, you can find yourself being awfully alone a lot). It’s allowing me to create, and innovate, and put skills to use I haven’t had to call in for years. I’m cultivating all the things I used to know and presenting them in a brand new position, in a brand new city. I’m excited, to say the least.

The week also meant soaking up the gloriousness of fall weather. With the program, it’s not simply the food you need to eat to make strides in what happens on the scale. You also need to get out, and walk. Or run. Or play. Or corn maze.

Or take in the Cat Trail.

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"I am so glad I live in a world where there are Octobers." – Anne ❤ 🍂

A post shared by Care ☆ (@carefulchatting) on Sep 27, 2020 at 10:20am PDT

I’ve found major victories, like denim.

And how to have southern fried chicken. And zucchini noodles.

Things are coming together in ways I couldn’t have predicted. But that’s what happens when you take a leap of faith, sometimes. Sometimes it’ll lead on the path you least expect, but are rewarded in riches you could have never dreamt of.

You can if you want to.

Food this week:

Oh – and to add, my zucchini noodles recipe is here:

@careonair

omg, this was so good. 🤤 #zucchininoodles #pasta

♬ Cooking – Fu Yu

And as for my shape-shifting body. Well – I hear “you have a neck!” whenever I post side x sides. ha! I’ve finally dropped out of the 200s and, carved off an additional inch and a half off my waist. Now, now I feel like I’m noticing the changes. Now, I’m veering away from being “hopeful”, and becoming excited, and ready to work harder.

And maybe go frolic in the fall leaves again.

Because frolicking is basically cardio, just a little less rigid and a little more regal sounding. Let’s frolic.

— c ☆