So, when I started this journey I initially just considered the, roughly, 110 pounds I wanted/needed to lose. As I began my weight loss leg of the journey, I got infused with the feeling of satisfaction self improvement brings. I decided, there is so much more I want to improve about my life. If I could control my weight, why couldn't I control the other areas I'm lacking in as well? So I began my full on journey to un-frumpiness. I've had small trip ups, which I've learned are normal, and you just have to get back up and brush yourself off and start hiking again.
Once, when I was eleven or twelve, my Dad took my younger brother and sister and I hiking to the top of Multnomah Falls, just outside of Portland, Oregon, on our way back from a family trip. As you get higher up, the hike gets harder, and more slippery. Plus, I've been overweight for pretty much my whole life, so I wasn't exactly fit at the time. Anyway, I remember as we were beginning the journey back down, my tired legs began to get shaky. I hid it well because my father and siblings were much healthier than I was, and there was a man with his cute son hiking in the same group. A pre-teen girl cannot lose face in front of a pre-pubescent hottie. All of a sudden, the terrain got really rocky and slippery and my legs gave out and down the HUGE hill I slid, terrified. Heights have NEVER been my thing, and I'm pretty sure this moment intensified that phobia. Thanks to the help of strangers (including hottie's dad), and my Dad being my super hero, I didn't slide far. But, I got pretty tore up. As if my legs hadn't already been sore and shaky, they were know scraped, bleeding, and embedded with gravel. As well as my arms and hands. I think I even scraped my face. I knew that despite the pain, it would be impossible for anyone to carry me down. Hurt or not, I had to push myself to make it back down. And I did. My poor dad, unable to accompany me or help, sent me into the women's bathroom to clean up the best that I could. As I stood by the sink dabbing with paper towels and crying, a stranger came up to me and got to work. She had a first-aid kit with her. She took out alcohol pads and cleaned my wounds, blowing on them as they stung like a mother would, and picked out rocks with tweezers. A perfect stranger.
Why do I bring this up? Since starting my journey I've been loved and supported by family and friends, but some of the most instrumental people in picking me up and pushing me forward have been perfect strangers. I'm a paranoid person by nature, another thing I'm working on, so I really had to break out of my comfort zone and let my guard down to add friends I didn't know on MFP. But I'm so glad I did. These perfect strangers have been like angels in helping me on my journey. Just like the lady in the bathroom.
Sometimes we fall. We have to get back up and keep going. Mostly, we have to let people, sometimes perfect strangers, help us and be the angels we need. I'm grateful for the angels on my journey.
Also, It took me app. 2 months to lose my first 15 pounds. If I keep it up at this pace, by next May, a little over a year, I can reach my ultimate goal. That feels pretty awesome. I can do it. Thank you all for your support.