mexican monkey.

I don't remember my last run but I know that it wasn't good. I'm not talking about the pace or the distance, but the soreness in my foot that followed for more than a day after. I put running on the back burner for a little bit thinking that I could always re-train myself, that I could re-condition later once my foot was fully healed. A few weeks passed, then a chance to do touristy things in downtown Chicago had me feeling like superwoman: over 4 miles walking in leather sandals and I damn near had to be carried back home from the swelling and throbbing in my foot. The pain comes in a slow creep, a gradual wave that starts as a flicker and grows to such intensity that it's undeniable when I'm in trouble. At that stage my foot looks puffy, my toes are hard to flex, and don't even think about asking me to bear the weight of my own body.

My healthy leg has taken a serious beating lately.

I've been generally happy to be taking the summer off from running (or... exercising in general) since I am currently without a gym membership and I am vehemently opposed to running functioning in this weather. But the truth is, the extra pounds and the lack of routine are really weighing on me (no pun intended).

And then, out of nowhere, a guest at work who I know very well stopped in for the first time in ages and I guess she hadn't seen my [overall] weight loss. So today, feeling down in the dumps that my foot still hurts and I want to run but I can't and worrying about the potential damage I did eating all that fried food on Friday night, a random compliment reminded me that standing still is still better than going backwards.

At least there's that.

In some other long-overdue news, NON SCALE VICTORIES:

I bought a belt. In fact, I bought four belts. It was horrifying in the store having to search for the largest size of belt in the rack and subsequently worrying that even the biggest belt wouldn't buckle. I did encounter a few belts that didn't fit (screw you, child-bearing hips) and I was absolutely panicked that people were secretly judging me in the store, but eventually I figured out that there's no standard to belt sizes and some are just smaller than others. I was looking for a chunky brown leather belt with a simple buckle and I found some that were either too small or too expensive, so for the mean time I settled on a a 3 pack of Steve Madden skinny belts in white, coral, and gold, and a braided brown leather beauty from H&M. They have instantly spruced up my wardrobe and I'm happy to report that belts and I are actually friends now.

White shorts. "White" anything will always be a victory, but these white shorts were a double whammy. I walked into the store directly towards the display of white shorts (on sale, score!) and picked up a size smaller than what I've been wearing. I was thinking maybe I should size up because white can be unforgiving, but I persisted and I won. So I am a proud owner of white shorts that not only zip but fit comfortably. If my foot was in better condition I would have gone down even one more size but that kind of wishful thinking is seriously unrealistic at this point in the summer. I want to buy things I can actually wear this season.

Skinny corduroy pants and size M shirts, for obvious reasons. It's still a total mindfuck when I pick up my number/size from the rack thinking this won't fit this won't fit and then it fits. I've come to really appreciate dressing rooms because if I bought based off what my mind thinks I fit into I'd be swimming in all my clothes. Before, my options were to squeeze into the biggest size or buy nothing at all. I am very much in the habit of taking clothes home without trying them on and forcing them to work, because nothing's sadder than being stuck inside a dressing room with a pile of clothes that don't fit being reminded that you're too fat for everything; at least buying it and taking it home to make that discovery later affords you some privacy in your disappointment. To be honest, that's exactly what I did with the corduroy pants: I grabbed my size, looked at them on the hanger and thought my ass is WAY bigger than that and put them in my pile anyway with the idea that they would fit someday. When I got home, I started to regret the purchase and then I remember I only paid $4 and I talked myself into trying them on. Even if they don't fit, it's only four dollars so who cares? They're not going to fit but it was only four dollars. Just see how bad it is first, you can always wear them later. My heart was panicked as I slipped my ankles through expecting for the fabric to stop at my calves, then at my thighs, then at my hips. It wasn't until I had them buttoned, zipped, and standing in front of the mirror that I actually believed that those tiny, skinny, impossibly tight pants were not only on my frame, but they looked good.

Everyone deserves to feel this good.