When you unfold your newspaper, or unfold yourself out of bed, there are creases. Wrinkles, lines, bent over itself.
There are creases on me, I noticed even with my lousy sleep, that my mid back has been more quiet, even if my low back is not. I notice that though my upper thighs hurt, it is not the same pain wakening me in the night. It is the pain of putting my body through its paces, relearning how to tighten, firm, and grip. Teaching my muscles to wake up and do something. Some of the yoga and stretches I started doing in August feel "easy", as my muscles tighten and ache with new routine. It is telling me that folding myself over and over and over again into various pretzel shapes, or just lifting my legs, or trying to lift my buttocks off the bed with my legs, is making my muscles strong. Able. Movable. In motion. Not slow motion. Stronger.
I have a waist.
Look above in that picture of me this week.
My bulge is melting.
Working it off like crazy.
Moving the metabolism at age 62 into gear.
I am not a newspaper that tears. I am flesh, and blood, skin, fat and bones, life. And the muscles are squeezing out the fat and telling it to take a hike.
Let's get this thing done.
Getting on the scale and seeing 207 and change made me cheer.
Just wait until I break into my wonderland dance.
One step at a time, One day at a time, One pound at a time.
Making it happen.
Getting healthy is my job.