Progress

Chief doesn't ask me about my weight very often. As long as I'm losing it steadily and gaining both strength and balance the numbers aren't very important to him, but about a month ago he stopped as we were stepping into the ring and asked me how much I'd lost. He had that impish glint in his eye that invariably spells trouble an interesting new challenge for me, so I answered "about 30 pounds" with some trepidation. He nodded and produced what looked like a boating life vest. When he strapped me into it, I realized that it was a weight vest.

A 30lb weight vest.

Holy crap.

We did two rounds of pad work while I was wearing it and I thought I was going to die. I moved so slowly and my shoulders ached from having to throw punches while weighed down. I could not believe that I was carrying that much extra weight around just a few months ago. When he finally took the vest off me, I felt as lithe and graceful as a ballerina and I was astounded at how much more quickly I could move.

Chief has always said that he doesn't care how much I weigh, only that I can move well and strike with force. This, then, was an object lesson in both how far I've come, and how far I have left to go.

Ever so slowly, every so surely, I'm making progress.