Progress?

Yesterday I went to the ankle doctor and was freed from The Dreaded Boot. He gave me a great brace that is made of some kind of stiffish meshy material and Velcro that wraps around the ankle a couple of times. You wear it over a sock, and it's very shoe-friendly. Today was my first day wearing it, and it felt good. My ankle is always a little sore by the end of the day, but I haven't taken any painkillers for a week or two. I'm still supposed to ice it and rub lotion into the scars. The latter grosses me out, but I'm getting used to it. When I broke it originally, anyone touching that scar sent me into orbit--I'm much more comfortable with it now. Dr. Ankle was amused by my black knee socks with purple skulls; he was pretty sure his 12-year-old daughter had the same pair. I was also sporting my leopard-print Chuck Taylors. (Why dress like a grown-up unless you have to? Socks and shoes are the easiest flamboyant apparel items one can get away with.) I asked him about physical therapy and beginning workouts, and he said we would talk physical therapy at my next appointment in a month and that I needed to let this ankle heal. He studied me for a minute and said, "Why, you're wasting away, young lady!" with a big grin.

I spent three hours today going through clothes. It looked like a consignment shop tornado blew through chez Salted--I have had clothes coming in and going out constantly the last few months. No fewer than eight women I know have given me clothes; there are three or four others that I have been passing things along to as well, and I'm extremely grateful for all of them. On a friend's advice, I finally chose to organize what I had left by size into large Rubbermaid containers. The smallest clothes I have are 14s, and I have to say--size 14s look tiny to me. I can't imagine being that small ever again; I can't believe how many, and how often, people told me I was fat when I actually was that size; it makes me sick (and sad, disgusted, angry, pick the negative emotion of your choice)--that, at that weight, I saw a monster when I looked in the mirror. For better or worse, I've made 14 my absolute goal size. It's the size of the average American woman, and in this case, average is more than good enough for me! Frankly, I'm not sure I can even reach it without plastic surgery in addition to diet and exercise, and I'm only 5'3".

I am currently in a frustrating place in my weight-loss journey. I am not losing much weight the past week or two, if any--fractions of pounds here and there, perhaps. (On the positive side, I'm not gaining it, either.) I'm also not losing weight in any kind of logical fashion--it comes from where it wants to on the body, when it wants to. It's not happening anywhere near fast enough for yours truly, and not having clearance to exercise yet, I can't employ that method to speed things along. Depending on what I wear, I either look like a short, healthy, round woman or like Lumpen Middle-Aged Poster Girl, and never the twain shall meet. I really despise the lumps--I've been shaped that way ever since the Puberty Fairy went on a bender at my house when I was nine or so. The demon stomach has always asserted itself in a big way, and it is doing so as we speak. I am five to ten pounds too heavy for a bunch of the pants I have waiting and, to my dismay, that five to ten pounds isn't going anywhere. I need to go out and buy some cheap stretch pants to tide me over. Sigh. Don't look at me like that--I'm eating what I'm supposed to!

Hand-me-down world

Yesterday was a freakishly long day for me. I worked a four-hour shift, in the middle of which I got a call from some people on Craigslist who were selling a wheelchair ramp for a great price. They didn't call us back over the weekend, so we assumed it had been sold. When I heard from them, I was overjoyed and ready to drive the two or so hours to fetch it. It is a suitcase ramp that folds in half, is the perfect length for our porch, and cost less than half of what ramps anywhere else we've seen have retailed for, so we were happy as pigs in mud to get it.

My beautiful home state of Washington is strangely constructed in places, full of peninsulas and such that you have to ride a ferry to get to or from--and so it was in this case. The ramp was in a place only about an hour from where I used to live on a peninsula, and I have friends about an hour from THAT area that have been talking about passing smaller clothes along to me there. I decided to meet up with them and make this happen since I was already relatively close by. It was good to see everyone--it had been a couple of years--and one friend took me out to dinner and we had a nice visit. I had the loaded baked potato soup at Shari's. OMG, I LOVE that stuff and was so happy I could still eat it (albeit maybe 1/3 of it). YUM. I then had to drive about an hour or more to catch a ferry home, which sailed about 14 hours after I'd left my house for work that morning. It took another hour to get home. (Needless to say, naps feature heavily in today's plans.)

When it comes to clothing, I enjoy thrifting/Ebay/consignment a lot. (I grew to hate hand-me-downs as a child, probably because that felt like mostly all I had until I began earning my own money. I reveled in the things I bought myself because they were my taste and my taste alone.) For the most part, though, I hated my clothes--they were never even close to "right" (and neither was my body, which was probably the genuine root of my feelings). My wardrobe often came from one local donation bin or other--I was worried someone I knew from school would recognize their--or God forbid, their mom's--castoff clothes on me, because I lived in a sordid little burg where everyone strained to pretend they had more money than they did. It seems like a silly thing now, but that stuff can feel huge when you are nine, or eleven, or thirteen. Kids now can at least go to Target or several other chain stores with decent prices and get a reasonably priced knockoff of whatever is acceptable. That wasn't an option back then. Thrifting and being frugal is also much more in vogue than it was when I was growing up. (It's not junking--it's vintage! I made some fantastic finds back then because that was before so many others were doing it. I still have, and wear, some of the jewelry.) Back then, I remember having to wear things that were much too "old" for me--the phrase that pops into my mind is "shiny old-lady blouses"--because there were never plus sizes (much less fashionable, age-appropriate plus sizes) available anywhere near me. Long before I was out of my teens, I embraced the joys of mail order. I still love it, and of course, Internet shopping has been a godsend--and stumbling upon the occasional plus-size consignment shop is a lovely, lovely thing.

Getting clothes handed down to me from friends is something I actually haven't been able to do in probably fifteen years because I had gained so much weight. I passed my clothes on to others as I expanded--I was never one to keep smaller clothes around "just in case" I fit into them again.

Until today, I had forgotten many of the positive aspects of getting clothes from friends. I really enjoy the element of surprise in it. Friends don't always share the same exact clothing tastes, but then I find something I absolutely love and would have bought for myself if I had seen it. I love that. It's also sweet to wear something you have seen your friend wear, if you feel good wearing it as well. (When I have a stressful situation or a big event, I like to consciously wear a piece of jewelry or clothing or shoes a friend has given me, because it's like having them with me in spirit--I feel like it gives me extra strength.)

It will be easier for me to let go of my larger clothing because I have smaller things to replace those items now. Until yesterday's haul, I was still feeling a bit unwilling to part with a few things--even as I am swimming in them. (I'm sure this is left over from childhood, wanting to hang onto whatever I can because I'm afraid there won't be anything to replace it. I squeeze every drop of blood out of my therapy nickel, can you tell?)

And on a lighter note--YAAAYYYY!!!! New clothes!!!!! :)