In another 1.8 pounds, I will have lost 40 pounds from my absolute fattest. When I hit my ultimate goal, I will have lost 45 pounds.

That’s a lot of weight, obviously.

Generally, I do not speak about my diet or my weight loss (aside from saying to A or the guys — look how skinny I am!), but I know the question is coming.

The horrifying question.

“How much have you lost?”

I know it’s offered out of curiosity and as a form of praise.

But, admitting how much I have lost will be admitting how truly fat I was. I am not certain I am ready to do that.

I was flipping through some old “photobooth” pictures on my computer (snapped by the webcam). It’s shocking how fat I was. I still have more weight to lose and more fat to lose, but I look so much better I want to kick my own ass for having gotten so heavy in the first place. I think of all the opportunities I skipped because I was embarrassed of how different I looked. How many people I failed to greet at parties or functions because I knew they would not recognize me — or if they did, wondering if they would recoil.

For me, losing the weight is finding myself again. My confidence. My presence. My connectedness to the world.

Outside of my family (and family of friends), I would never acknowledge this. I just want people to know I am happy and I feel good.

==> When doing a random search of BMIs this morning, I came across this website that told me I am in the 18th percentile for my age and height.

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