this dream could come true.

A look back:

My first post was on April 17, 2011. I was too busy celebrating my half birthday to realize that I had reached the 1 year anniversary! My bad.

On April 17, 2011, I weighed 297. I had recently gotten a scale and it was a giant shock to me to see those numbers. I spent a week starving myself and walking around the neighborhood in all my free time and quickly brought that number down to 292. I don't like to talk about the 297... it's just too embarrassing. But for today's purpose, I'll make an exception.

Today, April 26, 2012, I weigh 239 pounds. I had a very surreal moment on the scale today when it dawned on me that I'm ACTUALLY DOING THIS. I know it's been a year, but sometimes I convince myself that it's a fluke and I'll see big numbers on the scale again one day. But today, I know beyond a doubt that I did this, and I did this alone.

My starting BMI was a shocking 43.9, now I am down to 35.3. There's still a ways to go before I leave "obese" and enter the "overweight" category, and even more so before I can say I'm "healthy," but progress is progress. We all have to start somewhere.

I was feeling very unmotivated this morning, I almost convinced myself that today wasn't going to be a running day, but now that I see what I've accomplished I can't figure out why it would even cross my mind to throw in the towel now.

it feels so good.

I'd like to take this opportunity to amend my post from yesterday regarding my weight. I was actually at 241.5, but I had neglected to take my meds in a timely manner and that caused me to retain excess water. Sometimes it feels kind of cheap "losing" a pound by pissing it out, but I like to think of it as the equivalent of holding a liter of water while standing on the scale. If it doesn't need to be on/in my body, it has no business being reflected on the scale. 'Nough said.

Next up: what the hell is with the attack on carbs and sugar? I have a friend who is currently on a 21-day no-carb diet and let me tell you... if this shit continues, we won't be friends anymore. Firstly, who decided that carbs were bad? And secondly, how is it that a person who holds an MBA doesn't recognize that certain fruits are loaded with carbohydrates and that carbs are necessary to function?

And sugar too. For good measure, let's throw that in there. I read this thing on the HuffPost about a lady who lost 70 pounds and her reasoning for her success was "I cut out the sugar." Umm... why? Were you eating bucketfuls each day? Just shoveling it in your mouth like the gastric version of Lindsay Lohan in a mountain of coke? How much sugar could people possibly be eating to justify having to rely on no-calorie sweeteners?

I'm not a purist, but I don't believe that something man-made that never rots is a healthier alternative to something so natural and pure as sugar. Granted, there are very, very few occasions in which I have to add raw sugar to anything. But if I'm making a cup of tea and honey isn't an option, you bet your ass I'm going to spring for the 10 calories of sugar rather than taking the aspartame route.

You know what I'd like to see removed from public consciousness? Fruit juice. I read somewhere that fruit juice is concentrated fruit sugar that has been stripped of all the good, natural, healthy fiber that fruit provides. I've never heard such a violent (and accurate) description of fruit juice before. Naturally, I had always regarded fruit juice as a "good" thing, but ever since I read that I definitely see juice differently.

I'm holding fast to the notion that I'm not a on a diet. BECAUSE I'M NOT ON A FUCKIN DIET, OKAY? I get a little defensive because there's such a stigma about food and weight loss. Like, I couldn't possible even THINK about indulging myself because I'm still overweight. Being happy and eating desserts is for skinny people only, apparently. But fuck that noise, I'm not on a diet. I have a roll of cookie dough in my fridge right at this very moment, I've consumed at least 30% of it in the last week. And last night for dinner... I made a sandwich with TWO pieces of bread, ranch dressing, pepperjack cheese, and half an avocado (there was turkey and arugula too). And then I ate three Doritos chips. The point to this is that diets make it impossible for people to function like normal members of society. I can go out to eat, have drinks with friends, attack a piece of cheesecake, etc., and it's not going to "ruin my diet." Also, I didn't run yesterday, because studying for my test, going to class, doing homework, feeding myself, and getting to sleep before work were more pressing priorities.

AND I DON'T REGRET IT.

try to have fun in the meantime

So I keep thinking about an exchange I had with my boss and a coworker last week that's been haunting my dreams since it happened. I hadn't seen my coworker in months, our schedules were opposites and we never see each other outside of work. I had to stop by work one day when she was working and I was excited to get to see her for the first time in ages. As I walked through the door, he jaw hit the floor and she yelled "Wow, you look incredible!" I'm a ham for compliments, so of course I ate that shit up. But several minutes later she was still at it, at which point I had to snap her out of it. She kept asking me "how did you do it, what do you eat?" and my answer was vague and humble.

"Oh you know... I run e.v.e.r.y.d.a.y. and I pretty much eat the same stuff, but less of it."

Simple truths. I've made lots of small changes over the course of six months that have accumulated into a 50 pound weight reduction. But me dear friend/coworker didn't want to hear it. "No, really. Tell me your secret. How did you do it?"

Annoyed, I did my best to calmly depict my daily routine. "Wake up, run/gym for an HOUR, shower, go about my day as usual." I get that an hour is quite a commitment, but weight loss doesn't happen on its own. It just doesn't. My poor friend just couldn't comprehend. "But how do you have time?" I make time. "Oh, no. I couldn't do that. I don't have time."

That line angers me because when I hear someone else say it, all I hear is an excuse. I used to be one of those people. I didn't have time. But the reason that I didn't have time was because everything else was a priority and being healthy was at the bottom of the list. I mean... not really, OF COURSE everyone wants to be healthy. But if you put them to the grind, sleep and TV time and being comfortable is more important than having to put in the time and work to lose weight. I get it, I used to rock that excuse like a pro.

And then today, I read this quote:
Instead of saying “I don’t have time” try saying “it’s not a priority,” and see how that feels. Often, that’s a perfectly adequate explanation. I have time to iron my sheets, I just don’t want to. But other things are harder. Try it: “I’m not going to edit your résumé, sweetie, because it’s not a priority.” “I don’t go to the doctor because my health is not a priority.” If these phrases don’t sit well, that’s the point. Changing our language reminds us that time is a choice. If we don’t like how we’re spending an hour, we can choose differently.

It almost brings me to tears how fuckin true this is. Time is a choice. I don't love the time I've spent in the gym or outside running my ass off, in all honesty I would have preferred spending that time doing something else. But as I lay in bed every night feeling the changes in my body, I know beyond a doubt that I did everything I could that day to change the way things are. Small changes over time is how the big things happen.

I overindulged this weekend. We met at our friends' condo for drinks on Saturday, I attacked a bag of white chocolate covered pretzels on Sunday, and I ate waaaaay too much chile colorado. I'm sitting at 242.5 today, and you know what? I DON'T GIVE A SHIT. Honestly, it's getting a little scary to think that I'm a few pounds away from the 230s. I don't know why I'm scared, you would think that this would be a happy occasion. And it is, but it's also uncharted territory, so to speak. The first 50 pounds was peeling off the weight I had gained since meeting my boyfriend, which is still relatively new. But the next 50 pounds will take me back to high school, and that's terrifying because I'm coming up on 8 years of post-high school life. Eight... what the hell.

I've been shopping like crazy lately. My closet was a hodgepodge of clothes in various sizes and I wasn't exactly sure what fits and what doesn't. It took me weeks to go through everything, but I finally got rid of a monster box of clothes of things that are too big, things I don't like, or things I plainly don't want (*ahem* everything my sister ever gave me). To fill the recently vacated space, I went crazy at the mall last week. And then I went crazy on VictoriasSecret.com to use a gift card that I had. And then I splurged and bought two dresses from Dorothy Perkins. I've never heard of the brand before, but I saw it on a website and I just had to try it out (free returns... couldn't hurt, right?). I bought both dresses with the intention to keep them for myself until I realized that one would be a PERFECT mothers' day gift. My mom and I are roughly the same size, she's a little smaller than me but she's distributed differently so in the end it averages out to be the same size. So I bought both dresses in a size I'm comfortable with, it's been my experience that dresses tend to be too small so going up a size is never a bad idea. Except... I think I've shrunk enough that going up a size actually means buying one size smaller than what I actually ordered. Shit.

Losing weight is a total mindfuck. I'm not entirely sure what size I am anymore.

twenty-four hour shopping in rapture.

I Googled "fifty pounds" and this is what came up. Bahaha.

I took yesterday and today off from running because my body just couldn't take any more. At first I was disappointed, but then I had this horrible dream that I dislocated my knee and I couldn't run for months and I got fat again. It was horrifying. Even worse, I do have a history of knee/joint dislocations so that could very well come true if I'm not more careful with myself. So there you go, lesson learned.

Although, I'm seriously hoping that boyfriend is going to the bars tonight because I have another late night at work and I like the idea of going for a midnight run like I did last week.

I was going down this spiral of self-pity/self-deprivation over my decision to skip these two runs and I was contemplating pushing through a run just to say I did it, but I had a date with the scale first. A date I was most certainly not looking forward to.

241.5. For good measure I stepped on the scale three times because I could not believe my eyes. 241.5 all three times.

So today, Friday, April 20, 2012, I have lost 50.5 pounds.

Now I feel kinda justified buying this dress for myself last night. Consider it my "halfway there" gift.

they're all wasted.

Happy half birthday to me
Happy half birthday to me
Happy half birthday to meeeeee
Happy half birthday to me.

The scale gods gave me the most wonderful half birthday gift this morning: 244.0! Sometimes, it doesn't feel like very much, and then times like today it feels like the whole world has shifted. Indeed, it has.

I had almost forgotten what it was like to have the scale consistently show numbers in decreasing order. I've had enough of this up-and-down shit. In reality, it's my own fault, but I can't help feeling angry and resentful about it. But enough of my self pity, I have a plan!

Somehow, I let my exercise strategy slip away from me. I got comfortable, I gave into Netflix, and I forgot that pain is my friend. NO MORE, MOTHERFUCKERS, NO MORE. Going back to the basics means hitting the 21-day strategy hard. Coincidentally, the timing is perfect.

I have successfully completed runs on Friday, Saturday, Sunday, and Monday. Today is Tuesday. My appointment with Dr Stern is scheduled for Thursday May 3... which happens to be the 21st day counting from last Friday which means that if I run every single day from now until the day of my appointment, I will have completed 21 runs. In 16 days' time, I will have completed 21 successful runs, and, more importantly, I will have re-taught myself to love exercising.

Because honestly, I can't keep my mind off running.

wanna go down like.

I broke the left earbud of my earphones halfway through my run today and you know what... I KEPT RUNNING. I deserve a god damn medal or something.

But seriously though... wtf, earphones. I would die instantly of sadness if I didn't have music while I ran so I kept the right earbud in despite the weird balance issues it caused. The worst part was when I convinced myself that the dog barking during the last quarter mile stretch was barking at my jiggly ass.

Thoughts like these are exactly why I need to be shut off from the world when I take my running outdoors.

In interesting news, I read an article about how to become a more effective runner. Sad news to report: people with less body fat (read: more muscles) burn more calories, and running on a treadmill versus walking only burns 1.01 times the calories (running outdoors versus walking outdoors, however, burns 1.2 times the calories). So I guess I'm fucked on the body fat part, but at least I kicked the treadmill habit? It's silly how much time is devoted to conducting studies such as these because on the one hand the research is making me feel discouraged about my calorie-burning abilities, and on the other hand who gives a shit? Like, really. Who gives a shit?

just so typically me.

The best I've felt all day was during the 36 minutes I spent running. Sometimes I hate owning a uterus.

But seriously, the reason for my posting at this very moment is to bring attention to the 6.44 miles I've run in the last 42 hours.

I'M ON FUCKING FIRE.

if i lost you i would cry.

I couldn't stop thinking about how I ended my last post with a promise to myself to get back to running tomorrow. That's how all the broken promises to myself started: "I'll do it tomorrow."

I've broken my own heart enough times with empty promises of the wonderful things I'll do tomorrow that I couldn't do that to myself again. I have to take ownership of the two pounds I gained and correct the problem now.

As in, now-now. As in, I got home from work at 12:20 and readied myself for a run. It's a crisp 50 degrees outside so I dressed in running pants, a tank, my brightest and whitest performance fleece, and my entire fleet of accessories. It was just me, the road, and my iPod making friends in the darkness (because apparently the city is too cheap to keep all the street lights lit in our neighborhood).

I managed 1.86mi in 26:04, map my run says my pace was 14:00. Not super impressive, but it felt FAN-TAS-TIC. Plussss... I tried out my new pair of Bikilia LS for the first time (besides wearing them to work to break them in) and I think I might have to abandon my other Five Fingers because I am so madly in love. SO MADLY IN LOVE.

To keep consistent with my previous post, I spent all 26 minutes listening to Celine. "River Deep, Mountain High" is a killer song to listen to while whispering obscenities to baby Jesus under one's breath for creating the abominations known as hills. My ass does not appreciate it.

down with a smile.

It's embarrassing how much I like this woman. It's even more embarrassing how much of my life has been devoted to her in one way or another. Buttt -- it serves a purpose, I swear. I chose this video for one reason in particular: LEGS. Bitch has a nice pair.

All the millions of reasons to hate on her, and this is the one I take issue with the most. HATE HATE HATE. My hatred is spilling over today. I need to punch something.

Between all the Netflix, the tests and the quizzes, the stress from work, and the hormones raging through my body, I lost my shit. I let my eating habits go to shit, exercise went out the window, and I gained two pounds.

I GAINED TWO POUNDS. I'm going to skip the numbers because I'm big on self-esteem. But the point remains, I got lazy and it shows.

Back to Celine. FOCUS PEOPLE, FOCUS. She makes me want to run. Don't ask me why, but you could play ANY song of hers and my first impulse is to throw on the nearest pair of Vibrams and head out the door. Even more importantly, she's a very effective appetite suppressant. I thought about what creamy, cheesy, salty goodness I'd order for a late night at work tonight and instead I went for all-you-can-drink green tea [For health reasons, I feel obligated to note the VERY large lunch I had today that contributed heavily to the fact that I'm not actually hungry]. But really, Celine's a great motivator.

So tomorrow, demain, mañana, I'm reacquainting myself with running tights and lettuce. And the next time I think a cookie is trying to seduce me, I'm going to punch it in the face.

filler in the space.

They say the average American woman is a size 12/14. Average... what the hell does that mean? When I look out the window while driving in my car all the people I see are skinny runners. I go to the mall and I shamefully walk behind the skinny housewives in their size four Ann Taylor pants (and they're always white pants... what gives, white pants??).

I thought I would always support the "curvy is better" movement. Because... well, why not? I'm not into self-hate. I love me, cellulite and all.

But these days, all I see are walking health problems. The guests at work who can't walk fifty feet without panting uncontrollably, having to sit themselves down with a cup of overly sugared coffee and a fistful of donuts being shoved into their faces. It grosses me out how many people depend on the shitty coffee and donuts we pass off as "breakfast." What bothers me the most is that for most people we serve, it actually meets their standards for early morning nutrition.

Have a banana and drink some water. You'll feel better, I promise.

I haven't been a size 14 since... 6th grade. I remember because I would always steal my sister's jeans and it made me sad that she and I were the same size despite my being five years her junior. I rocked 16s through most of high school, sat at a solid 18 in college, and at the end of my suffering last year I was pushing into the 20s.

Needless to say, fourteen is not a number I expected to see anytime soon. Because 14 is average and I'm... not.

My best friend from college has been my support for the last seven years in our battle against the bulge. The ups and the downs, we did it together. But for the first time in the history of our relationship, we are both down, and significantly so. I tower over her 5'3" frame, myself standing at 5'9". The height difference never bothered us, but the numbers that tell our weight stories vary so wildly it's hard to relate on that level at times. Her current weight of 165 is at least 25 pounds away from a healthy level for her frame, but for me, I know beyond a doubt that seeing those numbers between my toes would signal the end of my weight loss journey.

Here is where most people would use the expression "I would kill for..." but the truth is, I wouldn't kill to switch weights with her. Not at all. Her 165 is not my 165. Sure, it's the same number, but we live on different planets. No two ways about it.

We do our best to avoid numbers; whether we like it or not, we can't relate in quantifiable terms. But we find other ways to communicate; case in point: clothes. Despite a 40 pound difference in college, she and I wore the same size. These days, are sizes are out of sync, but for once this is actually for the better. My bestie's success in her weight loss landed two barely-used dresses in my closet, both sporting a Size 14 tag. She invited me over to try them on before she tossed them out to charity. Naturally, I was apprehensive. I was nervous that despite all my efforts, the zipper wouldn't zip and I would yet again find myself in a hopeless position. Too fat for cute clothes.

Sure enough, the zippers didn't zip. But only just barely. Not only that, but my tiny 165 pound friend (who wears a 10/12 pant) was cursing me for looking better in the dresses than she did. The dresses went home with me and have been hanging on my closet door serving as inspiration to not eat that ice cream and as motivation for exercising when the bed is irresistibly warm and fluffy.

I didn't have a timeline for fitting into the dresses. Slow and steady, I say. Slow and steady. But when I wore a tennis bracelet from my boyfriend for the first time in months, I realized those dresses were not far out of reach. The bracelet was the first Christmas present I received from boyfriend, and it was the first indicator of the weight I had absentmindedly gained. The clasp wouldn't close around my wrist, but thankfully I know my way around a pair of pliers and I added a link to the chain to solve the problem. When the bracelet wouldn't clasp around my wrist a few months later, I buried it at the bottom of my jewelry box with a vow to myself to lose the weight. It's been years. On Friday, my silver shoes necessitated silver jewelry which is when I discovered my bracelet. The extra links I added now have to be removed -- the bracelet slides off my wrist.

I've had such anxiety about that bracelet, mostly stemming from the very real possibility that I'd never be able to wear it; it embodies everything I've struggled with over the last few years. But the bracelet not only fits, it slides up and down my forearm with such a pretty droop. If I can change my body to fit within the confines of the metal chain, surely I could wear a size 14 dress.

And today, I did.

so leave a message at the tone.

Thank jeebus the US is consumed with calorie counts. At first I was going to say "thank jeebus the US is consumed with health and fitness" until I realized that we're not. We're obsessed with numbers. That's all.

But seriously though, thank jeebus. Because now I know that my lunch was 1080 calories. LUNCH.

What the hell. I wanted to eat more too, but the "I have to go to the gym" guilt saved me from making that really poor decision. Fuck you, Taco John's. Just... fuck.

I finally braved looking at the nutrition info on the bread I buy... it's not nearly as bad as I thought. 110 calories per slice and it packs a whopping twelve whole grains. So... win. That coupled with a can of drained tuna (in water, 100 calories), a couple of stalks of celery roughly chopped (no calories), and a little squirt of Caesar dressing (50 calories), I've found a quick and easy meal that I can make just about anywhere. I have taken custody of a toaster I found in a storage closet at work that I use to toast my bread, I don't normally like toast but I love the way the bread has a texture compared to the gooey-ness of my tuna-celery mixture. It's divine, really. And at less than 400 calories, I don't have to feel bad about eating.

245.5. Today my boss's wife made a comment to my super hefty coworker/friend. On the one hand, I was fighting the giggles because her words were brutally honest to the point of hilarity, but on the other hand my heart ached for my friend who is still living in denial about her efforts to lose weight. Taking a twenty minute walk around the block once a week and only having five cans of soda a day instead of six isn't going to take you from morbidly obese to healthy; in fact, she hasn't even lost a pound. I feel bad for her, but my boss's wife's words were also hurtful to me in that she trivialized (however unintentionally) the work I've put into my health over the last six months. It's not just that I make time to work out every day, it's that I have to decline when extra servings, desserts, delicious drinks, food of any kind crosses my path. It's that I have less time for sleep, less energy for patience, less hours in the day to share with my friends and family. There are even things I'm not allowed to think about.

As if it's not bad enough that my body is overweight, now my mind is on a diet too.

i don't believe that anybody feels the way i do.

The scale read 245.5 today. Happy news.

Also, I think I might be getting a new job soon? Fingers crossed.

Sad news: new job means changes.

I'll have to pay for toilet paper and kleenex and cleaning supplies. AND now I have to find a proper gym to exercise at. AND I'll have to do laundry at home more frequently instead of using our awesomely huge industrial washers and dryers twice a month.

Really, I'm just worried about the gym thing. But it all sucks. It really, really sucks.

But more money means more clothes means more vacations means yay. So yay. Yay? YAY!

Today I sprinted for half a mile on the treadmill at a 0.5 incline (for some reason I run easier at a slight incline? It's weird) and then I did a 3 minute cool down so my entire distance was 2/3 mi. I was running short on time due to a badly timed phone call with my momma so I only managed 18 minutes on the elliptical with 3 minutes cool down, for a total of 1.80 mi. I'm glad I didn't do more because I passed out cold after lunch. Mid-afternoon naps are great, except when you have to go in to work after. BLAAAAAH.

9:30am phone interview means I'll be up and ready for early morning saunter around the block (and by that I mean I'm taking my lazy self to the gym where I can be warm and sheltered from the frigid spring air while spinning away on the elliptical).

Think skinny employed thoughts.

middle of my frustrated fears.

I am adamantly not on a diet. It's a lifestyle change. Smaller portions, better choices. That's all.

So I just got through a stressful weekend with extended family. I don't handle large groups well, especially if I'm related to them. But omg there was food. Other people cooking for me should be illegal.

I've also neglected running, it's been six days since I last went on a proper run. Fuck.

I don't know where the weekend went, but it's over and I'm happy about it.

March 1: 252.0
April 2: 248.5.

Yeah, I'm disappointed about that too. But that strawberry milkshake I had last night was divine, and it's a new month to try again. Plus, my new Bikilas are being delivered today.