When my hair lies like a second skin over my cheeks and I look as if I were just caught in a sudden storm, I let myself step off the exercise machine. My legs are empty and there is a rising feeling of nausea from my stomach. It never ceases to amaze me that the muscles that were working so hard only seconds ago now struggle to hold my weight. I stagger to the mirror to gawk at my sweaty form, my achievement, a visual that calms my fear of being fat again. I see muscles and bones that not so long ago were buried. This is the new me, the one who works to keep it off instead of consoling myself at the coffee shop with another commiseration prize.

By Angela Abraham, @daisydescriptionari, February 1, 2015.