So, at this point I am approximately 25% of the way to my weight-loss goal.
I have been slowly (oh so slowly) inching my way along since January 4, using the patented Sharon "try to eat less and spend lots of quality time on the treadmill" diet. I count calories. I set limits. I try to rationalize when I go 200 calories over. Occasionally I splurge and have a muffin (but not just any muffin! no. a muffin with maple frosting AND streusel topping.) or eight cookies worth of cookie dough. I feel guilty; I pretend it didn't happen the next day and make faces at the scale when it argues with me. Given all that, I have still lost about 10 pounds in two months -- which probably reflects more on how very much I weighed to start with than any super dedication on my part. I honestly can't quite tell whether my pants fit a little better or whether I have just stretched them out. Sizes in general are not a good measure of weight for me -- I am generally a "size enormous" in anything vaguely trendy, 60% because I am chubby and 40% because I have wide shoulders. (thank you Dad.)
Right now I'm running about 15 miles a week on the treadmill in 5-mile increments. Today I finished in 40:55. (Woot woot!) Hopefully I can get under an 8:00 mile by the end of the week; hopefully then when it is warmer I can move outdoors and run a little more easily.
It doesn't do to think too much about my senior year of high school and my solitary (but glorious!) season of cross country. I weighed less, of course. Much less.
More importantly, it doesn't -- quite -- do to remember running the 2-mile loop out on the gravel road and up around the dike in 15:00 at the beginning of August in the heat and feeling wonderful when I finished. (Except that it was a really good summer.)
I keep slogging away. And hoping. Maybe in a week or two the dress from H&M in my closet will fit without bunching (as it -- sort of -- did when I bought it.)