I wake up in the morning, stretch my arms, and touch my sinewy shoulders. I don't recognize me.
I dig into my closet to put on one of my favourite dresses for a party. I remember it used to be form-fitted and hugged my curves so nicely. Now it's baggy and hides me. I don't recognize me.
I scroll through photos of me on my computer to find one to make my Facebook profile pic. While I like many of the photos, I can only find one or two that resemble what I see in the mirror. I don't recognize me.
I go out for a walk or to do some shopping and experience something entirely foreign to me - I'm noticed. Some even notice a second time and then smile. I don't recognize me.
I look at my calendar on my fridge and it's got scribblings of workouts I've completed toward a marathon training plan. Running a marathon? I don't recognize me.
I go to buy new clothes and take size medium with me to the fitting room, thinking maybe I should be grabbing the larges as well. I try on the mediums and realize I need a size small for more than half the items. I don't recognize me.
I take a class at a local university and for the very first time in my entire life, at age 31, a boy in my class asks me out on a date. I don't recognize me. (Don't worry, I turned him down gently. There's already a special boy in my life.)
I take a small fall in soccer and go to rub my turf-burned knee. I catch a glimpse of my well-defined quads and realize that I'm not only wearing shorts, but my shorts are short. I don't recognize me.
I step on a scale and see the smallest numbers I've seen since I was a child. I don't recognize me.
I'm confident. I'm happy. I'm proud of me. My hair is shiny. My legs are strong. My hopes are high. My goals are in sight. My lungs are clear. My heart is healthy. My diet is balanced. My outlook is positive. My appetite for life is voracious.
I don't recognize me.