![]() ![]() It wasn’t anything crazy, and I don’t even own a scale, so I don’t know the exact number, but I noticed that whenever I actually deigned to wear something other than workout clothes (You know – real pants, with zippers and buttons and zero stretch. I’m 5-foot-three-and-a-half inches tall (Yes, I actually take the time to acknowledge that extra half inch.), so a 5-pound weight gain is more noticeable on me than it might be on a taller woman. So when I started noticing that I’d gained a few pounds a couple/few months ago, I paused and observed to try to figure out the culprit. I want to blow my own mind in my 40s with how strong and confident and healthy I am. And of course, I’ve always heard the warnings: “Just wait until you turn 40! You won’t be able to (insert everything fun here – have dessert, eat bread, go braless, etc) like you can now.” But I’ve always refused to accept that, as if now that I’m approaching this arbitrary number, I’m supposed to resign myself to being somehow deficient or less than the 20s or 30s version of me. I’m less than seven months away from being a bonafide 40-year-old.
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