All my clothes are loose these days. And yet I still find that I have my fingers crossed and say a little prayer before attempting to pull my jeans over my hips (don't know when, if ever, that anxiety goes away). But when shopping at Ann Taylor last night I made an amazing discovery. I am a new size. A size called 2.
Yes, there's size inflation. Yes, there's more of it at nicer (pricier) stores. But when I was trying to shed my unwanted 25 extra pounds (I gained them in my early 40s through a combination of no exercise due to injury and Starbuck's white mochas) there was a time as I got closer to my goal that I would go into Ann Taylor about once a week and try on something, anything, in a size 4. I did that for like 6 months, which is how I got to know all the salespeople there. Didn't buy anything. Just tried my goal size on. At first it would go past my hips. Then it went past, but was WAY too tight. Then I could zip, but it wasn't a good idea. And then it (finally) fit.
Size does not matter in the scheme of things, and I believe with all my heart that what matters is on the inside and not on the outside. But today my running will be a little faster because I'm happy with my new size.