"Enjoy your body."

I saw the nutritionist on Thursday. I was fifteen minutes late, which sucked, and she was rushed, but I think I'm a fairly easy patient now, being on point with the weight loss and not needing much in the way of guidance. I lost eight pounds in the last month. It had been thirteen the month prior, but she assured me that the pace with which it is being lost is normal or better than normal, particularly considering that I still haven't been cleared for physical therapy or working out. (I see the ankle specialist next week, and am wondering how that's all going to play out. I went to a trade show a few days ago where we walked around quite a bit and my ankle is still a bit sore from that.) I also discovered sugar-free candy from Harry and David, who have handily replaced Ben and Jerry in my heart--damn these dangerous men and their delicious concoctions! Thankfully, sugar-free candy does have that built-in deterrent in the form of its sweeteners, which have an adverse effect on anyone who overindulges in them. The warnings are on the packaging: "may have a laxative effect".

My nutritionist talked about the long-term importance of body sculpting and strengthening the core. "I want 2010 to be the year of the core for you," she said. I have long since established that I was in the bathroom when they were passing out the core--and besides, core is literally a four-letter word. The word "core" in the context she uses belongs in the same category as "team building", "holiday party", "three-legged race", "bridal shower" and "colonoscopy" in the English language lexicon for me. In short: eyes will be rolled; faces will be made.

I countered with, "2010 is going to be the year of having fun again." (Because it is!) If I can make myself stick to a workout regimen, ANY workout regimen, that will be the victory. I certainly don't see myself doing sit-ups until I vomit.

Her eyes got wide when she asked me if I was eating really good food. Food isn't anything I consider all that good. When you can have a few bites, how good can it be, and seriously, who cares? I have a lot of supplements to get in and that takes precedence. I told her the majority of my protein comes from the bullet supplements. I have heard that a lot of people stop using them, but I don't see myself doing that anytime soon. They are easy enough to choke down and I want to make my RDAs. Hair loss apparently happens predominantly from month 3 to month 7, according to a handout she gave me; I thought it was only month 2 and 3, so imagine my joy at this news. It is month four, and I have noticed more hair in the brush than usual, but I don't think it's enough to be noticeable to anyone but me. (I am not coloring it indefinitely just in case.)

We talked about the strangeness of being a weight I was at a much younger age, and how this process is, in some ways, like turning back the clock. I get around so much more easily, even with my ankle still in its healing stages, and physically I already feel 1,000 times better. I tell everyone--and will say again here--that even if I don't lose another ounce, this surgery has been totally worth it.

She talked about her passion, which is follow-up for two years post-op, and pointed out that the surgical center statistics of "only 5% will maintain weight loss" does not apply to those who participate in nutritional counseling and guidance before and after surgery; their success rate percentage is much higher. "I will see you in 2010," she said quietly. "Just...enjoy your body."

Enjoy your body. Those are not words that have ever been said to me. I have said them, angrily, several times, in reference to the barrage of verbal abuse I received growing up: "If people had just left me alone and let me enjoy my body, I..." Fill in the blank: been healthier, felt better, wouldn't have developed an eating disorder, wouldn't have flunked PE, wouldn't have become morbidly obese. The only message I received regarding my body as far back as I remember was one of constant and complete failure: my body looked wrong; it was not good enough. It was ugly and disgusted people. ("Fatandugly" was one word for a long time. It took decades to occur to me that I was not necessarily ugly simply because I was fat.) I felt--and still feel--much more comfortable when it is hidden. (There was also plenty of shame about being female and therefore dirty, an issue which is both different and the same.) As an adult, I have learned hard-won gratitude for my body--for its mobility and functioning senses. Actually enjoying it? I can make an educated guess: that will be something I work on for the rest of my life. I think enjoyment of my body will come in moments, much as true happiness does, fleeting revelations that cross my mind: Wow, it is easier to walk now. It feels good to dance. That workout felt good. I am already having those moments from time to time, and they are such a gift.

The world would be a completely different place if people learned from a young age that it was their right to enjoy their bodies, to appreciate what their bodies can do rather than focusing on the ways they fall short. This relatively simple concept would make a much larger dent in "the obesity epidemic" and eating disorder percentages than whether or not you can purchase bottled water at a fast-food restaurant or buy soda in a vending machine in school.

Today, I am 41

For the past few days, I have been in my happy place--the northern Oregon Coast. The skies have been clear and blue each day, save the one we arrived. We pulled into town with the rain coming almost horizontally and I still couldn't stop smiling. I simply love it here--we both do. We dream of retiring here, and today we started talking about Ways to Make Moving Here Happen Sooner--which is fun, even if it remains hypothetical.

I have not been able to weigh myself for a week, which is another blessing. I am still figuring out when to say when portionwise, and I am getting better at it. We did hit Harry and David and discover their sugar-free goodies, and I discovered quite unexpectedly that I rather like hot tea. So far, the Stash Chai Spice Black Tea and Harry and David's Ginger Spice Tea are my favorites, with one packet of Stevia in a cup. Lovely.

My greatest pleasure on this trip has been being able to find T-shirts (and two hoodies). It has chapped me for about 20 years that I could never buy a shirt when I traveled somewhere or went to see music. (Fat people have money too! Merchandisers, take note.) An XL either fits or almost fits me now, which is a really big deal for a person who wore 5X/6X at her heaviest. I have gone a little crazy this trip making up for lost time in the T-shirt department.

I am at peace with being 41, despite my eye bags (which, to be fair, I have had since I was in grade school--damn the genetic lottery). I am glad to be breathing and mobile with senses and brain intact. I am trying to make peace with my body's lumpiness, which is definitely easier since the number on the scale is getting smaller by the day.

Today at lunch we had an attractive young waiter who was on the cusp of being young enough to be my son. I finished my portion of my entree and Mr. Salted helped with the rest, so I went up to pay while he was still eating. I gave this waiter my driver's license and VISA debit card. The debit card bears a photo that is about two years old, while the driver's license photo is only from a couple of weeks ago.

"Is this you?" he asked quizzically, brow furrowed.

My grin immediately became a mile wide. "Yes, I've lost almost sixty pounds since then," I replied happily. He was the first service person to note this particular discrepancy in my appearance--at least, out loud.

"Well, you look GOOD," he responded without a beat. Not 'you're looking well' or 'healthy' or whatever generic, tactful thing most people I know would say, but "GOOD" with the heft of, dare I say, actual appreciation behind it. This event was somewhat of an anomaly for me to experience at ANY age, dear reader, and to be 41 and have it come from a handsome stranger almost young enough to be my KID--I will take it as a compliment. Whether he was aiming for a better tip or not--it made this old bag's day!