Last night, my dad asked me how much I weigh.
The sheer number of things that are weird about that fairly boggle my mind. And yet, I found myself answering him - "210, Dad; I'm a big girl" - as if it were the most normal question in the world.
And as I said it, I realized I was proud of the number. In part, because I started this journey almost 90 pounds heavier than I am now. In part because I work hard to keep the number steady while I work (slowly) at bringing it down, bit by little bit. But mostly because I may weigh more than 200 pounds, but I am also an athlete.
That's somethin', right there, and it's something to remember. You do not have to be thin to be an athlete. You do not have to look like an athlete to be an athlete. You only have to be an athlete to be an athlete. Sometimes people are surprised to learn that I have completed countless races. They seem shocked when I tell them I'm a triathlete. But most of the time, people just take it in stride, because fitness does not (always) equate to smallness.
I am a dangerous combination of fit, strong and not tiny. And I wouldn't have it any other way.
Oh, for the record, I got on the scale yesterday morning. It said 209.4; to me, that's 210. Down one for the week. Booyah.