After struggling and fighting my way through the hardest ten pounds of my journey so far, I'm finally in onederland.
When I explain to my friends and family that it means 199 or lower, they're proud and congratulatory, but none of them understood the terminology at first - and the meaning behind it was ultimately lost on them.
Before I started blogging, I was not in-the-know in terms of some of the lingo we tend to use in our writing. I probably could have figured out things like "NSV" and "onederland" eventually, but to hear and comprehend them on a surface/definition-based level is so different from being on a journey and striving for your own personal understanding of them. I could hear all about examples of non-scale victories, but there really wouldn't have been any meaning attached until I myself didn't need an airline seatbelt extender or until I personally bought a pair of jeans somewhere other than Lane Bryant.
I've been doing some reading to get prepared for this milestone: weight loss blogs, self-help books, and -
Very relevant, believe me.
Alice finds herself in a new and confusing place where very little seems to make sense to her. She's constantly confused by the people/animals she meets and their actions, the things to see, and the different feelings she experiences. The residents of Wonderland, however, don't share her sentiment. Nothing is strange or different - this is all normal, everyday living for them.
Right now, I'm Alice. It's my turn to wander around Onederland, and the things I am not used to might seem bizarre - but only to me. The people who've spent their entire lives in Onederland don't realize how strange it all seems to me, an outsider trying to make sense of it all. Just as celebrating unbirthdays and ordering a sentence before the verdict confounded Alice, I find myself on the brink of discovering even more oddities about life as a smaller person. With each pound I lose, little seemingly insignificant things keep changing, and my world becomes curiouser and curiouser. Clothing options keep growing exponentially, toning and surfacing muscles and bones continue to surprise and amaze me, and I'm meeting people who have no idea at first glance that I used to be 146 pounds heavier.
These experiences aren't shocking to someone who's never walked into a store only to walk right back out because she was too big to fit in the clothes sold there. Someone who's always been able to see the bones move in the back of her hands as she wiggles her fingers probably doesn't stare at them for minutes at a time while smiling in amazement. And someone might think nothing of meeting new friends and colleagues if there wasn't an alternate persona in the back of her mind: herself in another time and place, with a physical appearance that has changed so drastically that she is occasionally not recognized by those she knew before.
The difference between 200 and 199 is a large leap unfathomable by those who've never had to jump. It feels a lot bigger than 300 and 299 did, and understandably so. 300 to 299 was a huge transition from "the way things once were" to "the way things will be for a while" - but reaching 199 means moving into the next phase: "the way things will be for good."
The end is near, so to speak - though, admittedly, reaching goal is hardly an end, and living in maintenance will provide its own set of challenges. The last number will fluctuate. The middle number might change, too, for better or for worse. But my lifetime goal is to make sure that the first number never increases again. Because unlike Alice, I'm not going to simply wake up. I'm not dreaming - Onederland is my home now. Even though I haven't spent my whole life here, I'll eventually settle down and grow accustomed to the curiosities.