Ever have this sinking feeling that says, "Don't take this for granted?"

I've been promising myself that I'd write some kind of two-month summary on the workouts. Admittedly, the weight loss is sliding in right before the deadline, but changes really do happen in sixty days. My blood pressure and resting heart rate have dropped (the latter, significantly). I've dropped two full dress sizes. My hair and nails have begun growing with a vengeance that I have not seen in many, many years.

Oh, and those goal jeans? Have I mentioned lately that I'm an idiot? I bought the jeans on March 26, thinking I'd need approximately a month to get in them. I've known since this past weekend that it was going to be significantly less time than that, but when I tried them on today, I realized that I could probably wear these jeans out in public next week.

Next week, damn it. As in zipped, buttoned, pulled the shirt in and stared at myself in the mirror and thought "How is it that this can happen and I can't see any of it?" They're still a bit more snug than I'd like in the thigh, but I suspect that will go away soon. I'm in them.

What's really had me amused and mystified over the past few days is the weight loss. I don't like to describe it as if someone just flipped a switch, but it's apt. A few days ago, I realized I was having trouble remembering my 'Wednesday weight,' so I started jotting my weight down in my spreadsheet. The first day's results I figured it for a fluke; the second, bizarreness; the third, utterly inexplicable.

Get this: I've been dropping a half-pound every day for the past few days, and I've been eating more recently. The folks who chat with me online know that I've been dealing with a days-long case of the munchies that just won't seem to go away. A few of you kept reassuring me since January that if I could just hang on to a decent minimum of eating while working out, my body would eventually realize that I wasn't trying to kill it any more, and I'd end up experiencing hunger responses that fell within the range of 'normal.'

In two months, it seems like I've run the gamut. In the beginning, I was literally forcing myself to eat. Now I find myself actually using the word 'hungry' as it was meant to be used: to describe a physical state of wanting, needing food. I've experienced that feeling more in the past week than I have in the past decade of my life. It's disorienting, disconcerting, and really bloody strange. I still fall well on the low side of calorie levels, but it's become easier to stay within the 1200-1600 calorie 'safe zone.'

All this talk of goal jeans and weight loss sent me scurrying into my closet for items to try on. I've been fascinated over the past two months as my clothing began to fit more loosely, but I've been in a bit of denial about the scope of changes that were starting to take place.

It was the green beaded dress that did me in; the green beaded dress that I wore to Jeff's senior Theta Tau Christmas party back in 1997. The dress was a one-night-only affair: yes, Virginia, it's true…there was a night in the past where Amy wore a floor-length sequined dress and high heels.

The dress hasn't fit in years. Still technically doesn't, but it zips halfway up the back, only to stop at the level of the Magnificent Heaving Bosoms™. Judging by the progress I've made lately, I think it's safe to say that I'll be back in that dress within about a month, as well.

Reality check, line two! If I keep dropping weight, everything post-1997 will have to go. Everything. I'm not sure why it surprised me so much. I've known this, but I suppose I haven't accepted it until now. My adored collection of grey and black sweaters. Jeans. Bras, underwear, shirts, sleepwear, skirts, dresses. I'll be able to salvage very little: some turtlenecks that will probably fit until this fall, socks…and one very beloved item that's been put away for 'someday' for several years now - the blue silk robe I bought during my freshman year of college.

It says a good bit about me if I tell you that during all the weight gain I've gone through in the past ten years, I simply couldn't give up the robe. It was one of the very first things I bought with my paycheck from my night shifts in the computer lab, back in 1994. I've not been able to wear it comfortably for quite a few years now, and fully intended to donate it to Goodwill several times…but every time the day came to send off the donations, I just couldn't do it.

Every time, I've taken the robe off the donation pile at the last minute and hung it back up in the closet, muttering that I didn't know when I'd be able to wear it again, but that it was still lovely and that life might yet manage to come full circle after all.

* * * * *

Enter eBay. I've never had much reservation about buying used clothing, and even less so now. I've got incredible incentive to make sure that I'm only wearing any particular pair of jeans for a couple of months before they, too, are given away. Since the jeans I'm wearing right now cost around $40 apiece when purchased new, I'm quite happy to fork out $12 for a barely-used pair the next size down, and $7 for a barely-used pair in the size below that.

Depending on what manufacturer you believe, I am either currently either an 18 or a 20 in jeans. The goal jeans are a 20 in a line that I've been wearing for several years; I've chosen to stick with that number for the time being. I've tried explaining to people that I really won't be celebrating this weight loss until I see my jeans size change from a 20 to an 18. Some people get it; some people don't.

For me, the change in size from an 18 to a 20 was a miserable, miserable period in my life. It happened while my eating disorder was at its worst, while my eyes were open and I knew exactly what was happening to me, but was unable to stop it. I hated what I'd done to myself, what I was continuing to do to myself, but my self-loathing came in a little nutshell with the number 20 burned on it. Seeing that first number change from a 1 to a 2 was devastating.

Faced with the immediate prospect of it changing back gives me hope. I can do this, one bloody size at a time if I have to.

(Memo to the 16s: I'll deal with you eventually. Your time's coming.)

* * * * *

Weights workout #4, in before-and-after mode:

('e' meaning 'each'. An upright row of 20e means that I'm holding 20-pound dumbbells in each hand - NOT a total of twenty pounds overall.)

* * * * *

It amazes me to look back on what I was doing two months ago. Those of you who talk to me regularly know that despite my banter and my snarky commentary, these workouts are difficult for me. I'm still doing cardio 6-7 days per week, with weight training added in on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. I'm no longer as brutally exhausted as I was two months ago, but I'm still tired on weight training days.

I'm lucky. My life right now is such that I can put everything I have into these workouts. I am grateful for that, but there are both rewards and drawbacks to all this training. I'm seeing phenomenal changes in strength and endurance, even over just the past week, but I have to be very, very careful about the possibility of training myself into exhaustion.

It's a fine line. One that I don't always manage well.

At the urging of some friends (which, coincidentally, formed a nice harmony with the urging of my conscience) I chose to delay today's weight training workout until tomorrow. I've developed a rather large set of concentric bruises on my arms and legs from the weight machines, and I've been more tired than is usual over the past few days. Originally I'd said that I would do no workout at all, but by midafternoon, I simply couldn't stand it any more, and drove to the gym to do my basic 45 minutes of cardio.

As a result, Wednesday's and Friday's weight training workouts will become Thursday's and Saturday's workouts. On Monday I'll be back to my usual schedule.

Determined? Yes, perhaps. 'Stubborn' is plenty on its own, but 'stubborn with a goal' can be a little terrifying at times.

Misty, if you want that blue-and-white snowflake sweater you commented on this past winter, it is yours.