Two times in my life I purchased (important) dresses too small, for motivation sake, which I would never relay that advice to anyone I even remotely have a liking for. If you’ve never zipped your wedding dress up for the first time during the final fitting, you don’t know what true relief feels like.
I was a size 12 when my mom took me wedding dress shopping. The first dress was the one I ended up walking down the aisle in, even after trying on about a dozen more afterwards I didn’t want to feel like I was going to prom, and it was the only one that made me feel like a bride. So we ordered it in a size 8, and then went to Chipotle to eat 8 pound burritos to celebrate.
I bought a treadmill two months later.
I started exercising every day, tracking my food, and weight came off. Not quick enough for the first and second fittings, but there was progress. Having it taken out was not an option, and there was no plan B dress, so Taco Bell just wasn’t an option anymore. Skipping a run meant smashing myself into my wedding dress.
I ran my ass off, literally, and it fit so I celebrated with my favorite kinda cookie the second it was zipped up.
After the wedding I gained some, if not most of the weight I’d lost back, because fuck running and not drinking when there’s not a dress to motivate me anymore.
A couple years later I was asked to be in my best friend’s wedding, and I mean, of course I ordered the dress too small. Why wouldn’t I? I’m a pro. Only this time I was a bit more realistic and ordered a size 10, and since I only had to go down one size this time the procrastination game was strong.
Eventually, I did end up losing weight the same way I did before, exercising every day and choosing chicken and broccoli over pizza, and with the help of some spanx and a few friends to zip ‘er up it fit.
…But I did rip it at the reception.
It was clearly less successful, but I’m always amazed at the results I get from simply not shoving my face with whatever I want, and moving around a bit more. So, here I am today, thirty pounds heavier than I was last summer. I know this because one of those God damned Facebook memories popped up and told me that last summer I weighed less than I what I wrote on my driver’s license, which is how I measure true success.
This time I have no dress I need to fit into, but plenty that would fit again if I can get my shit together. I’m three days into tracking my food, and maybe this week I’ll even go for a run outside, in public, where people can see me. I don’t need to be a size 8, I just want to feel confident in my own skin again.
Maybe I’ll call it, Operation MILF by Fall. If anyone wants to hold me accountable, or be a part of this operation, you just let me know. We can start a club.