Where's my dancing bears?

Growing up American, we're trained from an early age to believe that our hard work will be rewarded. The popular movies and television shows all tend to end with the hero beating the odds, blowing up the Death Star and getting a medal of honor from a beautiful princess in front of thousands of onlookers. Well, unless you're Chewbacca. That dude? Got screwed.

This morning I'm below three hundred pounds for the first time in years. I've also lost 35 pounds, and 10% of my former self. There's no medal ceremony. There's no throngs of scantily clad women cooing their congratulations. There's no dancing bears. Where are my dancing bears? I want dancing bears! Wait, no I don't... well, maybe one.

Nope, I cross this barrier on a random autumn day, unnoticed by anyone but me. And you know what? That's okay. Now it's done. And now I'm in the two-hundreds. But there's a lot of work ahead, so tomorrow it's back up and early, lifting hard, kicking the elliptical up another level and getting the shirt soaked.

There's a phrase that people out in the weight-loss blogosphere use - it's called ONEderland, and it's where you are once you're out of the two-hundreds. It's a place I've been to, but I think I left it by the time I was 22. I hear it's nice this time of year. I hear they have dancing bears. I think I'm going to go back there soon.

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