Many moons ago I was stressed while planning for a wedding, then lost my job, got depressed and subsequently forgot to eat.

I was skinny. And not, oh, I feel hot skinny, but oh, none of my clothes/bras fit anymore and I look kind of gaunt in that picture. It wasn’t a purposeful weight loss, but honestly, I wasn’t complaining when I slid easily into the smallest pants I have owned in years.

Not too long ago I had to unbutton those pants.

In a bar.

Seriously.

After my depression lifted I was eating normally again. I didn’t think it was any especially crappy food, but I guess being home all day and having unlimited access to the kitchen equals eating more calories than you realize. And as much time as I had for the gym, I was in one of my patented “but I don’t WANT to go” phases.

That night, at the bar, when I unbuttoned my pants, a friend of mine took a group picture. Which I hate. She still hasn’t posted it on Facebook, because either a) she loves me or b) she forgot. I’m guessing B, but pretending it’s A.

The first place I gain weight is in my face, chest and arms. No hiding it. It’s all BAM! Hey look! Right here! That picture reflected a busty, round faced girl staring back at me that I didn’t recognize.

Now look, I don’t want to look gaunt, but I want to look like I did around Thanksgiving. Happy, healthy, and a few pounds lighter.

So last week I forced myself to the gym (and isn’t it funny how once back I’m all, ooooh I knew I liked it here! Ugh, I’m lame.), and started up the workout routine again. I’m only weighing myself once a week and today is D-Day. Or W-Day, I suppose.

I have realistic expectations and am hoping for a one pound loss. Just one.

I’d like to button those pants again.

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