The very first time I worked out with He-who-trains, and I thought I was going to die, He made me a promise. He said, "A few months from now, you will look back at this workout and just laugh. It will seem so easy to you."
Not that I doubted him, of course. But the it was kind of hard to think about, you know, while frantically sucking in air.
But today as I was cleaning up some accumulated clutter, I found it: the first workout. Stiff-legged deadlifts: 10 reps, 8 lbs. Now I do 12 reps at 35 lbs. That's the only exercise still in my routine from those early days (lovely, wonderful days) of being trained at the house. But even though I'm not still doing those exercises, I know that they'd be a joke to me now. Pretty much the only thing I use 10lb dumbbells for now is warming up (and that was the heavy weight at first.)
So much has changed since then. Not just the weights and rotations, but the way I look at things. Food is no longer a source of pleasure, though the conversation often is. Hunger is no longer a nuisance, but a sign that my body is working hard to get rid of the fat. I feed my body only what it needs to make it through the day and the workout. I eat at the same time every day. And while I'm not exactly a weight room expert, I no longer feel out of place. I don't dread working out, but instead (still) growl at off days. I'm fine when my heart rate stays in the 180's, and have learned to push when I'm mentally ready to stop. I no longer guess at my calories because I measure.
That makes this (slightly less) Pudgy Parson happy. Five months, well spent...