i feel the pain, feel no shame.

PMS made me clean out a pint of Ben & Jerry's last night. Well, it was only 3/4 (someone had already eaten some of it). Add to my level of shame: it wasn't even my ice cream. My friend who watched my apartment while I was on vacation left that ice cream behind. I have been promising to bring it to her all week, and instead I ate it in a moment of weakness.

So, not only am I in debt 700 calories, but I've lost out on $5 and at least 20 minutes of time having to replace the stupid pint of stupid ice cream.

You know who doesn't have these problems? BOYS. Because boys don't have crazy hormones and aren't affected by sugar. I hate my second X chromosome today.

I was thinking I could take a day off from the gym, and then I remembered there's only six months until I return to Las Vegas. That's 180 days' time to exercise myself into a shape that won't embarrass me when I have to share a room with this:

She's 44. Three kids. Worth half a billion dollars. LOOK AT THOSE LEGS.
Fuck, I hate her.

i've got some living to do.

Last night I ate my way though pizza, pokeystix, mozzarella sticks, and boneless wings. We had a Groupon that was going to expire and I was starving. JUDGE ME. And then... all that food put me in a food coma and I slept through gym time.

LOOK! IT'S THE SPICE GIRLS!

Hopefully you're so distracted by these magical creatures that you forgot what I just told you.

Today is a new day.

feel a way you've never felt before.

I don't have much direction when it comes to my personal or professional lives. I've been content mulling around, living day-to-day, not exactly sure where my home is aside from the basic facts that I was born there, lived there once, I'm squatting here for a while, and we're going somewhere in the future.

"I have direction!"
"Yeah... towards the mall.

Gripping, I know.

I'm a 20-something in the midst of what other people would call a crisis, but it doesn't feel that way. My contemporaries are in intermittent states of panic, almost always characterized by random fits that begin with "WHAT AM I DOING WITH MY LIFFFFFE?"

Okay, I'll bite. What am I doing with my life?

I could tell you what I did yesterday, or, I could tell you a story. I'm going to do both.

My life on a Sunday.

I awoke early at the contemptible hour of 12:45pm. It's not humane to subject mere mortals to such torture. [Ha.. ha.. I'm such a comic] Immediately after rising, breakfast was served to me on the finest platter of the Dixie disposable variety. We feasted on burritos made of egg and potato hash smothered in green chile pork of my own making, meanwhile enjoying Game of Thrones. The pattern of eating-and-watching-and-eating-while-sedentary-and-eating-and-watching-some-more continued well past dinner time (pierogies and sliced tomatoes, if you're interested). Like clockwork, we dressed for the gym at ten past nine. The rest goes like this: gym, shower, Breaking Bad, bed. The end.

I ask my suit-wearing bear friend that ALL THE TIME. No, seriously. His name is Sir Bunk and he wears glasses.

Aside from working on Saturday morning, I did nothing with my weekend except for eat, watch Game of Thrones, and think about eating while at the gym. If I made the mistake of sharing this information with my mom, she would yell at me and tell me to pull myself together and come up with more constructive ways to spend my time. It's true, aside from my garden and a paltry résumé speaking for my "career," I have not constructed much out of my life. The highlight of my days is the odd day each month I get to lift weights (and I say "get to" because, if I had it my way, I would lift weights every day). And then after maybe two or three weeks' time, I dance in front of the mirror checking every angle of my back, shoulders, arms, and legs, praying that my efforts have manifested.

I'm building muscle.

Oh Willy, you know me so well.

I don't for one minute believe that I'm special just because I've developed serious definition in my calves, but there's one thing you have to understand about me if we have any chance of being friends: this is new to me. I'm almost 26 years old and the concept/process of losing weight and gaining muscle is entirely, 100%, thoroughly new to my experience on this earth.

I upped my free weight bench press from 30 lbs to 40 lbs last night and today I'm prancing around like I fart rainbows. I'm that fabulous today.

Yes, it's true that I watched at least ten hours of TV last night. It's also true that I went to bed with my hair wet, and I let my alarm snooze 10 minutes longer than I should have, and I came into work six minutes late. And my skirt is crooked and my shirt untucked and my hair's a mess.

But...

As I was doing bicep curls in front of the mirror at the gym last night, for the first time ever I thought to myself, "Huh, those are some nice legs." And I almost cried. Self-acceptance is a beautiful thing.

i'll never talk to you again.

Food.

During our vacation, we fought three very impossible things on our food journey:

• Habit.
• Laziness.
• His mom.

I mean absolutely no disrespect, but moms are pretty much the worst thing to happen to a diet. Ever. No exceptions. At all. In any way. Ever.

Never.

Habit.

We've spent our lifetimes as fat people. Yes, I used the F word. Twenty-five and twenty-eight respective years of self-indulgence and gross neglect of our bodies, save for a fraction of the last year. That kind of lifetime conditioning is extremely difficult to overcome, and extremely easy to slip back into after a hiatus (read: during vacations).

Oh, but those potatoes look so good. Sure, I'll have some more. Oh, but there's just a little bit left. Of course I'll finish it. We came all the way out here, I HAVE TO eat it. All too many times we jokingly said "we're on vacation... the calories don't count." All too many times did we behave as if that were true. Sitting at a baseball game, stuffed from dinner, getting whiffs of fresh kettle corn having to restrain oneself from joining the growing line of people waiting to buy their share. But we're on vacationnnn, she says, salivating at the mere thought of sugar sweet 'n crunchy popcorn.

A year ago, I would have bought that kettle corn. A year ago, I DID buy that kettle corn. The difference between now and then is being able to tell myself "no" without feeling as if it's a punishment. It's not, and never should be. If it doesn't fall under the categories of "needed it" or "earned it" then I shouldn't have it. Simple. If I'm legitimately hungry, I will feed myself. Or, if it was an item on my must-have list that I planned in advance and I worked hard to deserve it, then I will feed myself. Everything else is just a temptation meant to distract me from my goal, and I am better than that. Harsh realities.

Laziness

This... ugh.

There's last night's deep friend leftovers in the fridge, or you can put together a proper breakfast of yogurt and fruit. But the yogurt is downstairs the fruit has to be rinsed, peeled, and chopped.

Or.

You can put together a salad, going through the process of selecting, cleaning, slicing, and mixing veggies, or you can go down to the street to your favorite sandwich place that will have your order ready before your debit card transaction has been cleared.

Which do you choose? LAZY.

An open letter to moms everywhere (including my momma):

Dear mom,

Thanks for being a super sweet lady and devoting your life to raising me. You did an awesome job of making sure I had everything I needed without my having to lift a finger. Unfortunately, your doting has left me obese and lazy. I think it's wonderful how you pan fry that in butter, I understand that it makes it juicy and delicious, but that piece of shrimp has 300 calories and you just loaded twenty pieces on my plate.

And then told me to eat more.

And then got offended when I said I was full.

And then when I said, "ugh, I should go for a run," you discouraged me by saying "Oh honey, you've been out all day. Why don't you sit and watch some TV?"

How very sweet you are to be taking care of me like that.

Yours forever,
Fat and lazy.

Another letter, to anyone who will ever in the future play host to a former-fatty, here are some things to consider:

Dear gracious host,

I'd like to thank you for your kind hospitality. Let's get some things out of the way before your inability to relate to my situation ruins a perfectly good relationship.

• First and foremost, please don't go out of your way to uproot your life to accommodate my lifestyle. If you're cooking for me, please cook as you would normally. I will eat your food willingly, making on-the-spot decisions about things like portion sizes and which courses to partake in. It's not your burden to bear.
• Do not, under any circumstances, load up on low-fat and fat-free stuff thinking that you're doing me a favor. You're not. It's rude and condescending, plus you're a jagoff for buying into the hype of these products. Low-fat cheese is an abomination and should not even be considered food. Cheese is a FAT, and removing said fat would render it a barely edible food product that even rats wouldn't eat.
• Lay off on the comments like, "should you eat that?" and "you haven't eaten enough." Fat people on diets are adults, too, and we can make our own decisions on what, when, and how much to eat. So fuck off, please. 'N thank you.
• If you care to register an opinion on such topics as diet and weight loss, please direct that towards your local newspaper. Or better yet, your living room drapes. This applies especially if you're one of those life-long skinny folks, because you have no idea what it's like. And probably equally as much if you are a reformed fatty, because having been there, you should know better.
• If you extend an invitation to your guests to join you on any kind of physical activity, please be patient and prepare for disaster. And don't be offended if your guests decline in favor of engaging in their own activities.
• Desserts are mean and unfair, so don't even think about it. Just don't.

To my kind, accommodating, considerate future hosts, taking a weight loss show on the road is confusing, difficult, and complicated. This personal struggle is something I'd like to keep to myself and I deeply regret having to impose any restrictions on the way you live your life while I am your guest, but I would appreciate your patience and understanding in the matter. For the sake of our continued friendship.

Yours gratefully and truly,
House guest.

you have every right to a beautiful life.

The last two posts have been a little word-heavy. My bad. It's a Saturday morning and I'm stuck at work so you poor things have to read my sorry thoughts.

I'm not sorry 'bout nuffin'.

Anyhow.

Indulgences (and alcohol) while on vacation.

This happened:

With white cheddar sauce. Judge me.

And this...

I licked ALL the cheese clean.

And I had this...

AT MIDNIGHT. No regrets.

Can't forget...

All by myself. And I'm pretty sure it wasn't even Smirnoff.

And for light lunch one day...

The Whaler, a one-pound deep fried fish sandwich at Wholey's Fish Market.

And lots of these...

Tastes even better in PA.

The purpose for this very large, very spectacular display is simple: I HAD ALL OF THIS. And I feel no guilt. When we first began to plan our vacation, I thought of all the things I just had to have and I put it on my to-do eat list. I was not going to be satisfied with this vacation until I scratched every single one of these off my list. Buttt - each and every indulgence on this list came with sacrifices. It was anything from a light breakfast, to a bland lunch, to a 6km run -- you name it, I did it. All in the name of indulgence.

It was oh-so-very worth it.

talk to your friends, talk to me.

Clearly I don't have my shit together, since it's now Saturday and so far only one of my planned posts has made it onto the Internet. Also, when is the I in Internet going to be made lowercase? I'm pretty sure we can stop making the argument that "Internet" is a proper noun. Because it's not.

Onward.

Setting a routine while on vacation (oh, and sleep).

We had an unusually high degree of luxury when planning our vacation because 1) boyfriend and I both have highly flexible jobs that allow for fluid accommodations, and 2) we took the poor (and practical) route of driving instead of flying to our destination. The first item was particularly useful in that I was able to stay at work until midnight the night before departure so that I could squeeze more work in and still be able to plan to hit the road early in the morning. For most people, I think they usually have to wait til the end of the workday before they can travel (true facts: my parents are notorious for the 11pm Friday night arrivals during their travels for this exact reason). But for us, leaving at 6am on a Thursday morning is just par for the course.

This back story has a purpose...

Our alarms went off at an ungodly hour (5:30am... so not fair) after careful, careful planning. Our travel time is 11 hours, plus driving east means we lose an hour to the time zones. We very well could have left at 9am or even 11am and still made it to our destination at a perfectly normal hour, but we were sticking to a routine. The plan was to arrive at around dinner time so that we would avoid having to eat on the road (besides lunch, that was unavoidable) and still have time to go about our day as usual, albeit in Pennsylvania... in a house that wasn't ours. Small details.

Let me tell you why this is genius:

1. Boyfriend and I have worked entirely WAY TOO HARD over the course of the last year to have our efforts unraveled by a few days in another state. We were losing the routine of sleeping in our own bed, cooking our own foods, and going to our gym every night. But, that did NOT entitle us to throw in the towel and give in to all of travel's temptations. It was important that, even in all the chaos, we still went to bed, ate out, and had meals in our same daily patterns. Let's explore more on those subjects.

2. Sleep. Boyfriend and I are students, we have highly variable schedules and it impacts our lives as such. That being said, we have adapted and created a routine out of all our chaos. Some days we're in bed at 2am (and that is not limited to weekends), and other days it's 11pm; there's no set schedule, we just follow the rhythm of the day. It's a dangerous game to play, because without a set bedtime one runs the risk of going to bed out of boredom (bad) or ignoring sleep urges and staying up way too late (also bad). While on vacation, we had to plan accordingly. On our first day, we knew that being pent up in a car for 11 hours would leave us mentally, but not physically, exhausted so we planned our arrival to leave us a few hours' time to expend some energy and mentally unwind. That first night we were in bed by midnight and soundly slept... exactly as planned.

3. Eating out. It's inevitable when taking long road trips. Trips beyond 5 hours are impossible to plan without having to consider food options, which span exactly two options: first, to pack food; second, to eat out. We chose a hybrid method. We ate a breakfast of sorts at home, packed snacks (cucumbers, carrots, beef jerky, bottled water) for in the car, planned dinner for the arrival at our destination, and a purposely scheduled stop at a particular Oasis outside of Chicago. It's almost a tradition for us now to stop at the Panda Express right off the tollway. It's a treat we never enjoy in our daily lives but it's a road trip staple, a guilt-free break from routine that anchors our travel schedule. We planned a similar treat on our way back home: a stop at Michael Symon's B-Spot outside of Cleveland. If you're going to travel through five states in the span of one day, you might as well take a gander off the highway to see what other parts of the country have to offer. Our car trip was purposely designed to embrace the inevitability of eating out while still maintaining a degree of normalcy to the process.

How could you NOT eat at a place with these kinds of adverts? NOT FAIR, Panda Express, NOT FAIR.

4. Eating in... in a place where you don't cook. It's basically the same as eating out, minus the rude-as-shit waiter leaving you with the bill expecting a tip grossly overcompensating their mediocre service. We (kindly) laid down the law with our hosts (boysfriend's parents) informing them of our lifestyle changes and prayed we would have the common sense and self-control to refrain from making poor decisions. I am a control freak, and it was extremely difficult being in a situation where I couldn't demand politely ask for less butter and more fiber. We did, however, make arrangements to have a few grocery staples waiting for us: for me, yogurt, bananas, and blueberries; for him, baked chips and pretzels.

Now that I've made your eyes bleed from typing so many words detailing the first day of our trip that you oh-so-laboriously read through, here's some more notes on our trip:

• We knew going in that there were going to be days that we would be out until 2am. Buzzword: accommodate.
• We knew going in that there would be days that we would eat nachos and Crabfries during baseball games. Buzzword: accommodate.
• We did not anticipate shopping so hard that a nap was necessary. Buzzword: accommodate.
• We did not anticipate our plans falling through, such as: the one really kick-ass plans we had for a Friday night to be spent drunkenly hanging with old friends to be turned into pathetic 20-somethings napping IN PUBLIC (yeah, that really happened). Turns out, even though it's Friday and your brain's ready to party, if your body is tired then your body is tired. Buzzword: accommodate.

Our sleep was all over the place, and we knew it was going to be, so we snagged every opportunity for a nap and every opportunity to go to bed early and every opportunity to sleep in late that our plans would allow. Sleep deprivation is an ugly thing and can too easily ruin a vacation.

We took physical activity wherever we could get it. I would have preferred our usual 9pm gym habit, but I dealt. Running at the track where my mother-in-law walks every morning: check. Spending five hours walking the paths of a super sweet outdoor mall: check. Enthusiastically accepting an unexpected invitation to swim at the lake: check.

Food tempted us everywhere we went, and we indulged! ... sparingly. We made sure boyfriend's mom didn't cook decadent meals on the days we planned for a heavy meals at a restaurant. I was promised Primanti Bro's which I enthusiastically collected on the day we had grilled salmon. My introduction to Crabfries came on the day that I ran 4.5 miles to earn it. I spent almost two hours at our hotel gym the night of our friend's wedding, knowing full well that I was going to partake in cake-inhaling and four hours of open bar (I polished off a fifth of vodka all by my lonesome).

So totally worth it.

Now that we've been back home for the better part of a week, there are a few things I would like to comment on:

I only gained a pound on vacation, which is now off my frame. I imagine most of that was bloat from my alcohol binge at the wedding, but the point remains that I took thoughtful steps to ensure that our 12 days in PA would not derail my ten months of progress and it worked. I got to eat/experience/enjoy everything I wanted while keeping a routine that made it easier to jump back into regular life back at home. Going back to the gym this week was a seamless transition that would not have been possible had I suspended the activities that I just described.

Friends don't let friends leave suitcases unpacked.

A super, SUPER, SUPER important thing that I wish I could stress more when returning from vacation is to unpack IMMEDIATELY. Pleeeeease do yourself that favor! It's hard enough living out of a suitcase for weeks without also having to do that in your own home. Traveling is exhausting, but spend half an hour putting your items back into place so that you know where your stuff is (saves time), you know what's clean (saves embarrassment), and you know what still needs to be tended to (saves frustration). Also, if possible, clean your place before you leave. In doing these two things, you'll wake up that first morning home having all your stuff in order and your home clean and tidy, thus reinforcing a nice transition into daily life.

a new day.

I spent the better part of this morning grumbling about how my vacation was over, about how tired I was, about how not ready I was to return to work. I spent the better day complaining that I wasn't still living in yesterday, enjoying the last few hours with the strangers I've come to love as family in a new place I've come to love as home.

It's true. Yesterday was better because I was on vacation then. I didn't have to worry about bank statements, or the bills that would be waiting for me at home, or the stacks of work left for me at my job. Yesterday was the land of good food and laughs and relaxation. It will always be easy to yearn for yesterday.

But here's reality: today is a new day. It hasn't been decided yet, so it's up to you to make it a good day (or a bad day, if you're that type).

Today was a good day. Just because I said so.

Now, with all my grumbling out of the way, I have a series of posts planned out for the rest of this week to follow a very specific theme that has always puzzled me: weight and vacation.

On the itinerary:
Exercise (Tuesday)
Finding a routine/Sleep (Wednesday)
Alcohol and other indulgences (Thursday)
Food (Friday)
... and maybe a wrap-up over this weekend. We'll play it by ear.

I've made the very conscious decision to put food last for several reasons, mostly because it's the longest and most complicated story to tell. That, and my future mother-in-law pisses me off on this subject and it's best to put as much time between then and this post as possible so that I've had time to cool off from this emotional roller coaster. With that, I'd like to jump into things.

Exercising while on vacation

Before embarking on my 12 day stint in western Pennsylvania, I had absolutely no clue how I was going to manage exercise while on vacation. I packed a bag separate from the rest of my luggage that was solely dedicated to exercise gear.

For those of you who are interested, here's a (mostly) comprehensive list:

• my favorite pair of Vibrams (Bikila LS)
• 4 sports bras
• 3 running shorts
• 4 running tanks
• heart rate monitor and chest strap
• Road ID (THISSSS... I cannot stress enough. It's even more important to travel with this while on vacation and it gave me and my parents the peace of mind knowing that even in a strange state I could be identified)
• iPod with hook ear buds and charging cord
• my favorite water bottle
• 2 headbands
• Body Glide and chapstick
• sweat rags

We stayed with my boyfriend's parents so we knew we would have constant access to their washing machines which helped us curb the amount we packed, otherwise the numbers of each item would be multiplied. The downside of staying with family is that we were without gym access. We contemplated paying for a week membership at a place nearby but it wasn't exactly cost efficient plus we ran the huge risk of paying for something we wouldn't use.

I really lucked out in that my boyfriend's mom goes to their local community center to walk on their indoor track every morning. She invited me to go with her the morning after we arrived and I was thrilled to have a venue in which to exercise. The indoor track was 1/12th of a mile and it makes for a really awful workout to have to do 50 rotations just to get a decent run. After that first date, I was informed that there was an outdoor track, but my future mother-in-law admitted that she had never bothered to pay it much attention since she had zero interest in ever walking it. The next time I went to the community center, I opted for the outdoor track and it was 100% better. Each lap was somewhere between 1/6th and 1/7th of a mile and I had the benefit of running in 70 degree weather with a breeze. It was perfect.

I ran at the community center five times: once on the indoor track, four times outdoors, with each run lasting at least 6 kilometers. There wasn't a pattern to my workouts, it was entirely dependent on the plans we had for each day. Some mornings I had the time to run, and others I did not. Only once did I turn down the opportunity to run and that was the day I was suffering from some hip problems from a horrible event that I will describe now.

My boyfriend's brother is in mad-serious shape. He lost 70 pounds over the course of a few years and now he's lean and ripped and it's impressive. He said to me on several occasions that he'd like to go running with me but he kept warning me that he was super slow and I was probably going to lap him. I was skeptical, but he assured me that he was that slow. One day, we had a break in our afternoon with no plans so we laced up (err... he laced up, I slid my toes in) and prepped for a run. My boyfriend was supposed to take us to their high school track, but at the last minute he flaked leaving us without a venue. I had insisted up until this point on avoiding running the roads around their neighborhood because Pittsburgh is seriously rolling in hills and I knew that my body wasn't ready for that, but we were ready for a run with no place to go. Brother convinced me that running in the neighborhood wouldn't be bad, so out we went.

I don't mind running uphill other than I hate feeling winded, but as a runner that's just something you learn to deal with. Running downhill, on the other hand, is physically intolerable for me because of the strain it puts on my knees. Still, I shoved my fears aside and starting running; downhill at first, rest at a stoplight, then uphill. That first hill was murder. I was feeling like I was about to pass out when Brother kept telling me "this is the worst hill, we're almost done." And I trusted him. I finished the hill, reached a level area and rejoiced that I had survived. And then we came up another hill.

Seriously not joking when I say all of Pittsburgh's neighborhoods look like this.

I ran about 10% of it before I realized I was falling apart. My heart rate spiked, I was seeing spots, and my left hip was killing me. I walked the rest of the way up and said to Brother, "I don't think I can keep going." He said nonsense and assured me it was all flat after that. The next hill we encountered, I threw a hissy fit and began to walk in the other direction. We were only 1.5 miles in and it was way beyond my limit. I'm not normally a quitter, but for my health I could not have continued this. I walked most of the way back to the house, limping and cursing under my breath, furious that I allowed myself to be convinced into running this death trap.

Not cool, Pittsburgh.

I was feeling pretty awful back at the house, but I hoped a shower would cure it. There was not enough hot water in all of Pennsylvania to fix the problems in my left hip, so I kindly borrowed my hosts' rolling pin to work out some of the muscle issues while laying on the floor. It's been over a week since that experience and I am still walking with a limp. The morning after, I woke up crying out of sheer pain and had to decline my morning run. The following days weren't much better but I pushed through the pain to get my miles in. If there was any good in this experience, it's in the affirmation that it is SUPER IMPORTANT to know your limits. I knew even before I went on the run that it would be too much for me, and I ignored my inner voice and paid the price. My biggest fear with this experience was that a bad decision made one afternoon would take me out of the running game for weeks, and that thought was terrifying. Lesson learned, I guess.

The penultimate night of our trip we spent at the Fairmont in downtown Pittsburgh. It's a seriously swanky hotel in the heart of the city (no joke... Hines Ward was there) with a KILLER fitness facility that's free for guests to use. We were there for a wedding and we sprung for a room for the night and I'm glad we did for the fitness center alone. I walked in and two nice ladies greeted me and then took me on a tour. A TOUR. This place was so big you have to have a damn tour guide to navigate you. There were three flavors of fruit water, coffee, fruits and snacks JUST AT THE ENTRANCE. The cardio room was to die for, the weight room made me shit my pants, and the locker room... OMG. There were free lockers, showers with all the amenities, a steam room AND a sauna, scales everywhere, and a prep room for the ladies to do their hair and makeup (hair products, blow dryers and flat irons provided). You could not want for anything in this place because they had it and it was yours for the taking. I felt kind of silly for walking in with my water bottle, head phones, and heart rate monitor because all those things were provided free of cost. FREE. Well, not really free cuz their rooms are expensive as shit, but you get my point. I had three hours to kill before the wedding so I started on the treadmill and watched Legally Blonde. Then onto the elliptical where I watched The Matrix, then weights, then the locker room. I showered, used their razor blades and fancy soaps, walked around the entire locker room wearing their fluffy white bath robes (I was the only person there), I spent time in the sauna, touched up my hair with their flat irons, and enjoyed the atmosphere to its fullest extent.

IT.
WAS.
GLORIOUS.

So now I'm back at home, reflecting on the 25 miles I ran while on vacation, super pleased with myself knowing that I only gained one pound (ONE POUND! 223.0 and rocking it), relieved that my week at the gym won't be spent undoing all the damage I did to myself because I ever-so-wisely kept the damage to a minimum.

I am a mother fucking rock star. Tomorrow we'll discuss routines and sleep.

OH, PS - I bought a new pair of Vibrams

i need a doctor.

Today's buzzword: DETOX.

I'm nursing a serious hangover. Vodka is not my friend right now. We're broken up.

Not only that, but I need a post-vacation detox. Nothing about this vacation has been relaxing and I jump back into work on Tuesday, meaning I'll be having some pretty serious life issues soon.

I could seriously use three days to get my life in order. Just three days.

Lots to blog about. Starting tomorrow. Maybe.

trying to rock them ugly jeans.

So... I've been weight lifting. I know I've talked about this in passing before but it was never that big of a deal because I didn't know if I would stick with it. My initial interest in weight lifting was solely for the purpose of toning my arms, which have been sadly neglected since... always.

I'm usually big on dates and significant events, but (as I already admitted) I did not consider this weight lifting thing to be serious so I never made that mental note about my starting day. I have no idea how long it's been, but WOW it's worth the time.

Some things I've learned about weight lifting, from a lady's perspective (HAHAHA I called myself a lady... JOKE):

1. Some men don't even notice a girl's presence in the weights area, but it's been my experience that most of them do. And almost all of them are annoyed with me. I think most guys assume that girls don't know what they're doing, and in the case that we do actually know our way around the sets, we're just a waste of space pumping dinky little five pound weights.

2. It's true, sometimes I use 5's. Mostly 12's and 15's, maybe a set of 8's for shoulder flys (flies? I'm pretty sure it's flys). Yes, guys who work 75 pound dumbbells are much more impressive than me, but this isn't the Olympics so fuck off, mmkay? It would be super cool if I could rip off skull crushers at 75 pounds, but we all have to start somewhere and my base just so happens to be 5 pounds. And that doesn't mean I'm any less deserving of some time in front of the mirror.

OMG yes. I don't care if guys judge me for these, but I WANT.

3. Guys, seriously, WTF. You can't say you spent an hour lifting weights if you spend forty of those minutes staring at yourself in the mirror. Yes, your calves are impressive, but take your one-man Mr Universe competition to your bedroom. If my lifting 5 pound dumbbells is a waste of space, then your flex show is a waste of a gym membership. Maybe I'm just super efficient with how I spend time doing my reps, but it seems to me like most people in the weights area are dawdling. A note to future weight lifters: lift your weights, then GTFO. Do your neighbor a favor and clear the benches ASAP.

4. Lifting weights is hard work. It can be seriously discouraging to be wiped after one set of ten reps at ten pounds per arm. I wish I had some magical thing to say to assure you that it gets better, but that part's up to you. Lifting weights isn't like losing weight; there's no scale to quantify your progress. It's up to you and your memory and your dedication to decipher whether or not you're making progress. For me, I was certain I'd be able to tell I was making progress when I was able to lift more weight, or at least lift the weights more times. But after weeks and weeks of dedication, my dumbbells have stayed the same as have my reps. What has improved, however, is my stability. It's small, almost undetectable if you don't take the time to notice, but it's definitely there: my arms don't shake and wobble like they used to. My boyfriend/trainer tells me that the first step in making progress is to lay down a solid foundation with your stabilizing muscles, whatever that means. I thought biceps are biceps and triceps are triceps, but apparently there are these mystical muscles that support larger areas of the body. It's worth the read.

5. The payoff in weight lifting is immediate and multifaceted. First, there's the thrill of doing something new. Adding something new to the mix helped me break through a very terrible weight loss plateau and ended the monotony of cardio, cardio, cardio. Even weeks into it, I still look forward to my weight lifting days (every other day, in case you're interested) because it's different. There's only one way to run, but thousands of ways to lift weights. The exercise itself is also very thrilling because the burn happens on the spot at such intensities that it's impossible to deny that your body is doing work. Over time, you get to experience the pleasure of realizing that your muscles are firmer (FEEL MY TRICEPS) and you need more weights to challenge your routine. And even better... weight lifting spills over into other exercises and daily life, too. I've become a better runner by lifting weighs (it's true, it's true) and my posture... whoa. As my middle school band teacher would say, "impeccable correct sitting position."

Side notes:
-- Ladies, if you don't like unsweetened chocolate, then that means you don't really like chocolate. You like SUGAR. And that's gross. I'm judging you.
--I don't know what it says about me that I get emails from Victoria's Secret that simply say "Thank you. Thank you. THANK YOU." Umm, does that come with free panties? I'm glad the company is acknowledging the ridiculous amounts of money I've spent there in the last year, but I think it's kind of crass to remind me of that without a compensatory offer. FREE MERCH, PLEASE.

PS - my future mother-in-law called last night to ask what foods she should stock up on to prepare for my arrival later this week. HOW SWEET! She knows I eat differently and asked for a list of items she can pick up from the grocery store so that I can maintain my eating habits while on vacation. I'm the luckiest girl.

o holy night.

My boss's wife has the worst way of complementing me. Seriously. It's like she knows exactly how to make me feel shitty about being skinny. It's weird. I'm going to blame it on the fact that English is her third language (THIRD! who does that? #jealous), but she has this impeccable way of giving what should be a sweet compliment, except she says it by essentially saying "you used to be fat." Umm... thanks a billion?

Also, I'm pretty sure she's giving her teenaged daughter an eating disorder. Shame. But it's none of my business... ?

I'd like to point out that I'm wearing skinny jeans to work... because none of my other pants fit. NO PANTS. It's been so hot the last few weeks that my skirts-and-dresses-only regimen denied me the opportunity to squeeze the last weeks of wear-ability out of my pants.

I wish someone had told me last year how expensive losing weight was going to be. I spent $9 on fancy cheeses for my salads. NINE DOLLARS. At most, I'll get six servings out of that purchase. And my gym membership, which is about to lapse... don't even wanna think about that. And turning over my closet THREE TIMES... ugh, I can literally see thousands of dollars flying out of my closet. THOUSANDS. I couldn't help but think yesterday as I clicked the "purchase" button, "I wonder how long these clothes will last." The answer is: not long. And for that reason, I kinda regret spending the money.

But the sad truth is that I have a job where my appearance matters and I can't come dressed in running tights even though that's the only thing that fits right now. Must spend money to look respectable. If you have any coupons or tips on where to shop where I can get decent clothes at a dirty price, I'm super receptive to ideas. But keep in mind: it has to be crazy cheap, nicely made, and not anything I'll get attached to in the inevitable event that I'll have to donate the lot in a few months' time.

Now, business.

I spent ALL DAY yesterday deep cleaning the shit (literally/figuratively) out of my apartment. One of the best feelings in the world (for me, at least) is coming back from vacation to an impeccably clean house. It's already chaotic enough unloading your life from a suitcase, it eases the process coming home to sparkling floors and fresh linens. You should try it.

Despite my domestic calorie torching, I was still in the mood for some gym time. When 9pm rolled around, I dressed for the gym. I spent my time on the elliptical watching Mckayla Maroney eek in a silver medal performance on the vault, then I did some triceps/biceps/shoulder work in the weight area. After that, I walked to my car enjoying the very rare chill (in Iowa? In August??) with the brilliant idea to go for a run.

Yep, I totally went for a run even after going to the gym. Running in 50 degree weather is my favorite thing to do, but I fear it'll still be months before we see that kind of weather. But it was a crisp 63 degrees when I left the gym and I just had to capitalize on it. HAD TO. I set my Nike+ iPod kit to 5km and hit the pavement on my favorite route.

There was a moment when I was running when I realized that I LOVED IT. I was sweating and I could feel the burn in my hamstrings and in my lungs as I pumped my way up a tough hill realizing that the steady rhythm of my breath and the quiet tip-tap of my feet was calming. I got to the top of the hill with a huge smile on my face knowing that for the first time ever I ran without once thinking "this sucks."

I managed 5.8km in 43 minutes and I was truly sad when it ended. I could have run more but it was late and I knew I had to be up early for work. I'm glad I stopped when I did because I was ten shades of sore when I woke this morning. Oh holy night, what a feeling. It was horrible.

I loved it.

i need you to stay.

It should come as no surprise that today's banner picture is that of a cake. We're celebrating, duh.

I didn't realize it at the time, but I actually started the celebrations last night.

Cookies and cream cappuccino... you have got to be kidding me.

I was feeling pretty blahhh after work yesterday and I knew I was WAYYY under my calorie consumption for the day (gazpacho is delicious, but it's not packing much in the calorie department) so I decided to augment my intake with a caffeinated confection. I was thinking along the lines of chocolate milk, but when I saw the cookies and cream cappuccino I just HAD TO try it. Consider it research for our upcoming road trip this week, I'm facing an 11 hour drive and I will need to abuse caffeine.

Flash forward to twelve hours later: I'm standing on the scale with the numbers 222.0 reading on the digital screen between my toes. I didn't believe it so I walked away and weighed myself a few minutes later. A second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth turn on the scale read exactly the same thing.

222.0

I had always thought that the big numbers would bring scenes filled with jumping and tears and celebration. I was certain that 20 pounds, 50 pounds, 70 pounds would be significant... that it would wake something up inside of me, an inner rock star just dying to dance around the room from the joy of accomplishment.

I have yet to experience such a moment.

Maybe it's because every half pound is a celebration. In that case, I've repeated this scene 140 times before. One hundred and forty half-pounds of celebration happening silently within the confines of my own mind.

I thought I would feel relief reaching 70 pounds because it would signify that that my journey is almost over. Even with the thought of another 50 pound journey ahead of me, I don't feel burdened but I also don't feel relieved. If there's any relief at all it's in knowing that my exercise routine and eating habits are still good enough for my body to whittle away at itself without crashing my metabolism to a halt.

Weighing 220 pounds has always been a huge goal for myself and I'd like to take this opportunity (two pounds out) to assess where I am.

In 2005, at 220 pounds I was 19 years old and recently introduced to Pilates. I was at my fittest after a year of the freshman fifteen twenty. I had a boyfriend who pushed me between feelings of insane sexiness and utter depression. My pants size was 16/18, my legs riddled with cellulite, and I was constantly worrying about the way my stomach protruded from above the waistband of my panties. I felt good, but not consistently so. It was a constant battle that ended with an unusual dependence on makeup, mistaking concealer for confidence.

Now in 2012, I'm a prouder, confident 25 year old, thrilled to see 222 on the scale. Beyond a doubt, I am my fittest ever. Sometimes it scares me when I graze parts of my body and find things I've never experienced before, things like razor sharp hip bones and rock hard muscles. The muscle definition on my legs is insane, and I have to go out of my way to find cellulite (bits here and there under my bum). Even my feet are pulsing with rippling muscle. My biggest concern when I walk out of my apartment every day is if my pants are too baggy or if my shirts are falling off. My pants size is 14/16, shirts M/L. I don't remember the last time I wore makeup and I honestly don't care.

I have two minor goals for the time being. I'm coming up on an extended vacation and I'm overwhelmed just thinking about it, so for now I'm going to put weight loss on the back burner.

Goal #1: Lose 2 pounds before leaving for vacation (4 days).
Goal #2: Maintain weight on vacation.

For reals though, this should be a celebration. We're having a celebration breakfast at my place; on the menu: toasted whole wheat bread, one poached egg, one piece of pan grilled turkey, one large beefsteak tomato sliced and seasoned with lemon, salt, and pepper. Also on the itinerary: clothes shopping! I wouldn't be me if I didn't celebrate a large weight loss goal with some new clothes. I have shrunk out of all my jeans except for my newest pair of skinny jeans, so it's pretty obvious that I'll be shopping for pants. In sizes 12 and 14.

Oh, it felt so good to type that.

and then you let her down easy.

I'm big on numbers. I should know better, but numbers are so indisputable. I've been fighting the number on the scale for weeks, months even. Still stubbornly going to the gym knowing that regardless of what the evil scale has to say, there really isn't a choice in the matter.

It's health, or illness.

The contrast is night and day for me, but for others it's shades of gray. I'm fighting the numbers every step of the way knowing that if I don't make progress I'll be stuck in the shade of illness forever.

I've picked up swimming and weightlifting, increased the resistance on the elliptical, and I've lengthened my runs for endurance. And yet day after day I face four digits of disappointment as the scale refuses to budge.

My weight might be playing games with me, but my body isn't. I know, it totally sounds like I just contradicted myself. Hold that thought.

I'm wearing a size 12 dress. Right. Now.

it won't make sense right now but you're still her friend.

Thing I didn't want to know: Gabby Douglas takes the gold. Thanks HuffPost, for making me look like a liar. I SWORE I WASN'T GOING TO WATCH.

Damn.

Seriously though, I teared up SO HARD. Mad props to my peeps over in West Des Moines for turning out yet another extraordinarily talented and extraordinarily charming young athlete. So proud.

Now, onto business...

Stepping on the scale today felt a lot like that video. I'm crazy jealous of Robyn's moves, you have to be in a ridiculously good mood to come up with a groove like that. Ignoring the subject matter, of course, 'cause if you listen to the lyrics the song is actually pretty fucked up.

[I'm sure you can tell now that I've been that girlfriend.]

Oh, the scale said 223.0. Bye.