Last year on Cinco de Mayo, I weighed 182 pounds. I’d already lost 114 and was feeling more confidant than I’d felt in years. I even bought a sleeveless shirt and wore it to a Cinco de Mayo party. That, too, hadn’t happened in years – both the party AND the sleeveless shirt.
I admit I was clueless about what Cinco de Mayo celebrated exactly. I knew it wasn’t Mexican Independence Day, but I also knew it meant more than just an excuse to drink tequila. (“Jose Quervo, you are a friend of mine…” My personal anthem back in the day.)
I wanted to know more about this holiday, so I found this little synopsis on the Internet of the history of Cinco de Mayo (click here) and learned that it was the day back in 1862 when 4,000 Mexican soldiers defeated 8,000 French troops in Puebla, Mexico. How cool is that? Never underestimate the will of people invaded. (President Bush, are you reading this?)
Never underestimate the will of a former fat chick, either. This Cinco de Mayo, I weigh 135 pounds – 47 pounds less than last year and 161 pounds lighter overall. Like those 4,000 Mexican soldiers, the odds of me winning this battle of the bulge are not in my favor. Most people who lose weight gain it back. Fortunately for me, I’m stubborn. (I know, hard to believe.) This weight will stay off, and I’m declaring that on this Cinco de Mayo – this day of freedom and liberty – and all the Cinco de Mayos to come, the French will not advance. The fat will remain defeated.
Now to celebrate, can someone pass me the salt and lime? A cowboy, perhaps?