#FatGirlProblems

Let me get this out of the way first: I have no progress to report. All numbers are the same. It's not a great place to be. I'd have to saw off a leg to win the HealthyWage challenge, but that's not what I want to talk about.

I've had a number of experiences over the last few weeks that feel significant. Not life-alteringly significant, but they sort of hit home how far I've come and I wanted to share. So here is a list of #FatGirlProblems that I didn't consciously realize were things until they were no longer things.

For example: I went to Disneyland. I love Disneyland. It's my happy place. And I rode rides. I love rides. And some of the rides have lap bars. You may be familiar with lap bars. You sit down next to a person and a single bar is all that stands between you and that person and CERTAIN DEATH. And normally, when the lap bar came down, I would say a silent prayer for the poor unfortunate soul next to me - the one whose death my massive thighs was going to cause - but this time, when I looked over at my fellow rider, we were both secure and safe under the lap bar! No one was in danger! It was a miracle! I was not responsible for the potential death of my co-rider! It was a huge deal!

A number of these recognitions happened at Disneyland, so let's stay there for a minute. My favorite ride at Disneyland is the Haunted Mansion. I love everything about it (not just the fact that the lap bar isn't really a lap bar, so I don't have to concern myself with the potential death of the person sharing my Doom Buggy), but there's a part of the Haunted Mansion that I've always just sort of ignored. The leaving part. Upon leaving the Haunted Mansion, you pass through a turnstile. And by "pass through" I mean "turn sideways and squeeze and cross your fingers that you don't get stuck". Except this time I just walked through it, facing forward, hips square, like the thing was built for me. I almost crawled back under and left again because I was so excited that I fit through the stupid turnstile.

It was warm when I arrived at Disneyland, but not so as the sun set. No problem! I was overdue for a new seriously overpriced Disney sweatshirt, so I convinced my comrades to wander through basically every shop in both parks and Downtown Disney that sold clothing while I tried on everything with a hood. After pulling a number of men's XL's off the racks and realizing they were way too big on me, I finally came to my senses and found an adorable, fitted, women's large that I think looks pretty nice. You guys! From a men's XL to a women's L? That's the equivalent of 2 sizes. And the most important part was that I didn't have to go for the bigger size because the thing wouldn't pull down over my hips. My hips were not in the way!!

Speaking of my hips, I flew on an airplane. Another activity I participate in frequently. Not usually a pleasant activity, as I'm not a huge fan of having to pop my ears or strangers. (To clarify: I've never had to pop a stranger. But I'm leaving the misplaced modifier, because that's funny.) I'm an even less big fan of being squeezed into a seat so tight that I can feel the thigh sweat of the stranger next to me because my hips don't allow the armrest to come down all the way and I have to spend the entire flight with my leg pressed uncomfortably into the leg of the stranger next to me. Except, this time, it didn't happen. I was on an American Airlines flight (they're not known for the roominess of their coach seats), and I fastened my seatbelt (by inserting the metal tab into the buckle and tightening by pulling on the strap. In case of emergency, my seat cushion could be used as a flotation device...) and reached up to rest the armrest on my leg. Except, it didn't rest on my leg. It came all the way down. In fact, it missed me by inches. I think I was still staring at it when the stranger came to sit next to me. The stranger that I didn't touch at all during the entire flight! It was a huge deal. I was giddy.

So, yeah, I'm not going to make my May 15 goal of 160. I will make my goal of 160 - don't you worry - but I'm going to miss the deadline by a few months. But, you know something? I've come a long way, baby. And I look good!