the moon and the stars were the gift you gave.

Firstly, WTF is going on with Facebook right now? I haven't checked my feed in like... an hour. I don't like this feeling.

Secondly, OH JESUS THE WEATHER. It's May 31, and it's 50 degrees F outside. I LOVE IOWA.

Thirdly, fuck the gym. Okay I take that back. FORGET I EVER SAID IT. I love me some treadmill, but after today's run... le sigh. I am an outdoor runner. For shiz.

Let's take a step back and admire today's banner pic, mmm? TOO FUNNY. If my grandma had Facebook, I'd put this on her wall. And she'd probably slap me, but we'd all get a good laugh out of it. That, I'm sure of.

I finally bought the Nike+ iPod sport kit the other day. Actually, I was last week but I couldn't figure out how to use it! I was convinced my sensor was dead out of the box, but it turns out I'm just dumb. I've been using it for the last few days and I.AM.IN.LOVE. Although it REALLY chaps my ass that the only music options are playlists, sometimes I like to set it to a particular artist and let it shuffle through the albums. But whatevs, I love playlists too. I absolutely love that it gives me information like my pacing and that my robo-chick whispers in my ear "one kilometer left" or "halfway done!" or "you burned some SERIOUS calories... congratulations!" It was a little annoying at first because I hate having a good song interrupted, but now I absolutely look forward to my little updates. I need to calibrate it BADLY, I'm almost certain I'm not running an 11 minute mile, but it's not a priority for now.

I've had a weird week at work and my food habits have gone all wonky (no worries, all good foods at appropriate portions but I'm eating at different times and my body isn't adjusting well). The scale has been consistent, nothing to report [let's think of this as good news, mmkay?].

I had an appointment with my optometrist today. Actually, the guy I had been seeing before was unavailable so I saw a new doctor and she was super cool. Six days from now marks the one year anniversary of the craziest trip of my life and I just have to say... what a ride it's been. Plus I got NEW CONTACTS. The nice person named Chris from 1800contacts that I talked to on the live chat feature today sent out a year's supply of my new contacts in exchange for the four boxes of my old prescription that I currently have in my possession, and the new ones are cheaper than my old ones so I'm getting $36 credited too! I'm not getting paid for my review of 1800contacts (but if they're reading this, I'M OPEN TO RECEIVING COMPENSATION... hahaha), but seriously, take my word for it. 1800contacts rocks my face off. Totally, completely, 100% worth it. I deal plenty with doctors and pharmacies and I can say from experience that their process is easily one of the best.

I kind of wish I had run longer today, but my left knee is feeling a little funny. But seriously though, can you believe I just typed the words "I wish I had run longer?" WTF is going on.

did you notice all my mistakes?

I wanted to post this yesterday, but I immediately became terrified that this was a fluke. This can't be happening, right? Oh, it's definitely happening.

Today, 29 May 2012, I weigh 232.0 pounds. In case you're new to my story (or not paying attention), my total weight loss to date is 60 pounds.

I'm struggling internally, and it's for a really stupid reason. Really stupid. I was running on the treadmill last night, thirty minutes in thinking to myself "where the fuck did this person come from?" When we walked into the gym, the ladies at the desk welcomed us back (because we've gone every day for the last 2+ weeks) and it reminded me of when we used to have that problem... at restaurants. No joke, we went to this one restaurant so frequently the ENTIRE staff knew us. Believe me, I'm happy that our obsessions have switched from eating to running. But seriously though, WHERE DID THIS COME FROM? I'm running somewhere between 20 and 30 miles a week, and recently I've been finding that I need to run faster and/or longer because it's no longer raising my heart rate where it needs to be. I'm at the gym every day and still I come home with too much energy that I need to throw in an hour of Pilates just to get myself to calm down.

In all my life, I have NEVER been this way. Throw in having no sense of self image (I still think of myself as a size 18 even though I definitely am not) and the confusion that comes with not knowing what's next (despite all my progress, I still have not settled on a final goal weight) and you end up with a seriously confused individual.

But today is supposed to be a congratulatory day. So let's celebrate! I found this video yesterday and I've been in absolute love ever since. I put this on repeat on my iPod during my run yesterday and it was INNNNcredible. Mes Aïeux = my new faves.

Thank you, Québec, for being AWESOME.

something for nothing never proved me wrong.

Here's my shameless Celine Dion plug for the day. If you're ever in Las Vegas, GO SEE HER SHOW. I PROMISE (100% money back guarantee... not really) that you will enjoy yourself. Plus, there literally is not a bad seat in the Colosseum.

I got S'il Suffisait D'aimer at a Walmart on a Friday night in August 1999. It was the end of the first week of school in 7th grade and my parents took me to the mall to get a new backpack. Instead, I walked out with this CD which cost $16 (my parents almost killed me) and spent the rest of the night trying to decipher the French lyrics. I was 12. My parents thought it was a colossal waste of money because my Celine love was new and they thought it was a passing fad (HA, PROVED YOU WRONG FUCKERS). It's true, S'il Suffisait D'aimer was only the third Celine album I had purchased (after Falling Into You and Let's Talk About Love), but I didn't care what people had to say. I LOVED IT. Correction: love. I love it. That same exact CD is currently in my car's CD player at this very moment, I was even listening to "En attendant ses pas" on the way to work this morning. True story: in 10th grade, I wrote a paper about how I would bring only this album with me if I was stuck on a deserted island. "On ne change pas" is hands down my FAVORITE FAVORITE FAVORITE Celine song of all time and is 100% the reason I took up learning French.

I heard this while running on the treadmill yesterday and oh em gee... let me tell you. I like this song, I genuinely do, but nothing about it makes it on my list of Top 10 Celine Songs of All Time (probably not even top 20). I liked it in concert, I rarely ever skip it when I'm listening to Falling Into You, but I'm just not normally passionate about it. Except yesterday. The album version of this song is a whopping EIGHT MINUTES. Picture this for me: you're on a treadmill, bored, the TV in front of you is showing some lame ass golf game (ps the best thing to ever happen to golf was Elin Nordegren when she smashed Tiger's face in), and this song starts playing. EIGHT MINUTES OF MID-90s POWER BALLAD. Result: I have a new running song. BAHAHAHA. Something about the "BABY BABY BABY, if you kiss me like this, if you touch me like that, if we forgive and forget and it's all coming back to me" gets me going. It's cheesy, it's predictable, and it's AWESOME.

I hated this song when it came out, I hated it when she sang it in Omaha, I hated when she named her Ultimate Collection after this song... basically, I could not have hated this song more. I don't know what's happened to me since then, but I seriously cannot get enough of this song. CANNOT GET ENOUGH. I'm a little mad at myself for not having enjoyed it when Celine was singing it IN MY FACE, but eventually I'll forgive myself and move on. Until then, this is on repeat on my iPod.

THIS. THIS. OMG THIS. This was the BEST part of the Taking Chances show (there's a 2 minute intro that isn't shown on this video) and I wish I had paid more attention because I didn't realize until the end that Celine was FUCKING MY MIND. Celine Dion is the love song queen, there's no dispute about that. She's sappy, almost saccharine, in the cheese she oozes from every ounce of her being. But THIS performance is exactly the Celine that I love. It's fun, it's bouncy, it makes you want to dance, and above all... the lady can sing. If there's ever a time when I'm running and it feels like I can't take another step, I play this song and it works every time.

The reason for my shameless Celine plug is because I'm in a really good mood. [This is where you're supposed to ask, "Why are you in such a good mood?"] And I say: Well, I stepped on the scale...

...And? [<-- that's you]

And it said 233.0. 233.0!!

I am one pound, 3500 calories, 1 pint of water away from having lost 60 pounds. Just when I was starting to feel like I was stuck, I made the change that made the difference. Honestly, I don't remember the last time I didn't go to the gym. These sixty pounds have not come without a sacrifice. My legs hurt, I'm always tired, sometimes I'd like to eat something other than lettuce, lettuce, spinach, and more lettuce. I'd like some cheese fries and milkshakes and a big ass bag of hot Cheetos. I'd like to erase all the knowledge of calorie counts from my memory, I wish I didn't know how many steps I take in a mile.

That being said, I just took my THIRD trip to the pisser since I woke three hours ago due to my meds, and suddenly I remember why I do it: for my health and well-being. In that general category of "well-being" I consider things like:
- wearing a miniskirt in Vegas
- feeling good about myself
- running because I WANT to.

I could continue to contemplate these things, but I'd much rather take my tunes to the treadmill and pound out all my frustrations while rocking out. And you can bet your sweet little asses that these four songs will be lighting the way.

how did you know that i would play the part.

Let's count all the ways that today has sucked:

1. I set two alarms, one for 10:30 and one for 11:02am. I intentionally did this because I was exhausted and I wasn't scheduled to go into work until 3pm so I decided to let myself sleep in. But, I'm pretty much a marathon sleeper so waking up is a difficult process and I need a minimum of two alarms. I'm sure you can imagine my surprise when my alarm went off at NOON THIRTY. The 11:02 alarm never went off, and the 10:30 one decided to be two hours late. I'm not sure if I need a new phone or a new alarm clock, but this was a pretty shitty way to start out the day.

2. All my running capris are dirty. So are my bike shorts. I had to wear 3.5" inseam shorts to the gym today. Actually, it wasn't that big of a deal because I keep a stick of Body Glide around for emergencies and the gym was empty. The only real problem in all my favorite gym clothes being dirty is that it means I have to do laundry... more on this in point #7.

3. The gym was empty. I have anxiety. This is a bad combo. When I first drove into the parking lot, I thought "Oh shit, it's closed." I rushed to the door to see if it was open and in the process I forgot to feed the meter. The gym was NOT closed, so there's that, but I got a parking ticket. Fuck my life.

4. There were three bored employees and me in this giant gym with a serious echo. I started out on the treadmill and every sound I made was amplified. I swear, you could even hear the slap slap of my bare legs rubbing up against each other. The universe must have an EPIC sense of humor to make TODAY the day that the gym is empty AND I don't have any running capris.

5. I was feeling REALLY good on the treadmill despite the extreme stiffness from last night and this morning's equally rough soreness, so I decided to take my run to a full 30 minutes (I usually stop at 2 miles). Literally a minute after I made that decision, my treadmill suddenly stopped and the screen read "Error 29." I don't know WTF Error 29 means, but it wouldn't let me keep going no matter which buttons I pressed. I took that as a sign that I wasn't meant to run anymore.

6. No bother, I moved on to my favorite elliptical machine. 5 excruciating minutes of screeching coming from the machine's gears convinced me that I should find another machine. The next one did it too. I hate losing the stats that show up on the screen so I said fuck it and kept going on the second machine, noise and all. I think the gym employees hated me, but I just turned up the volume on my iPod and looked the other way. Eventually the screeching stopped and I found my rhythm, only to realize that all this machine drama ate 20 minutes of time and I was going to be late for work.

7. I rushed home to shower with barely enough time to tend to my shit before work. While taking the quickest shower ever (seriously, I didn't even wash my hair), I remembered that a) I have to do laundry today and b) I haven't watered my plants in two days. So I had to spend time I didn't have going around my apartment collecting all the dirty laundry and out on the balcony watering my garden. Except my watering can is MIA and the plastic pitcher I've been using in its place was blown off the balcony at some point in the last 24 hours. Once I found a replacement pitcher, I noticed that the terrible winds we've been having snapped my tomato plant in half and did some serious damage to one of my bell pepper plants. And I think my petunias are dying. Fuck my life.

8. I showed up to work 7 minutes late, sweating buckets on top of leftover wetness from my shower, and my fucking gas tank is empty. Oh, and my boss owes me $65. And my coworker is threatening to ruin my Memorial Weekend plans by not showing up. Fuck this, fuck today, fuck everything.

It feels that way sometimes, Buzz. It really does.

Instead of letting my bad mood ruin what otherwise could be a very good day, let's count all the ways that today has NOT sucked:

1. My coconut water subscription from Amazon came today! It seems weird to say that I have a subscription to a food item, but that's just the wonder of technology I guess. PS - coconut water should always be had cold. Otherwise, eew.

2. My most recent order from Old Navy should have been delivered as well (but I can't confirm that until I get home). Yay new shorts and tanks! Yay for looking hot this summer!

3. Despite neglecting my garden for two days, everything is still alive. Minus my broken tomato plant, which may or may not be dead. I could possibly still salvage that, and worse case scenario I'll just buy a new one. And I'll need a new watering can. But who am I kidding, I love shopping so this is just an opportunity to buy new stuff.

4. I may have possibly broken the treadmill, but I got a great workout today. And that Body Glide stuff really works! It still hasn't rubbed off even after the gym and a shower. I'm wearing a dress at work and I'm not focused on the dangers of starting a crotch fire because my new BFF Body Glide wouldn't let that happen to me. Nope, not today.

5. I had a FANTASTIC salad for dinner. It was a shit ton of fresh spinach (15 calories), 1 large beefsteak tomato (45 calories) roughly diced, half an avocado (200 calories) cubed, a squirt of lemon juice, salt and pepper to taste, and half of a small leftover chicken bratwurst (around 75 calories) cut into medallions. It turns out the bratwurst was unnecessary in this meal but I could use some protein so I went with it. Seriously though, oh em gee it was an incredible salad.

6. There are tons of floor-to-ceiling windows where I work which means plenty of reflective surfaces in which to stare at myself. As I was walking into the building, I caught a glimpse of my legs in the glass and I could have sworn they were somebody else's legs. THOSE ARE NOT MY LEGS. I may not have lost any weight recently, BUT HOT DAMN I LOOK GOOD.

PS - I Googled "fuck my life" and a picture of Alessandra Ambrosio came up. Touché, Google.

collect your records and then change your number.

Shh... don't tell. I've been holding onto a secret for a few weeks now. Are you ready for it? Okay. My weight loss has stalled. Plateaued. Hit a wall. Whatever have you.

Believe me, I'm shocked as shit. I've been grappling with this minor problem for a few days now, wondering what the hell is wrong with my meds, my GI tract, my muscles, my body in general... just about anything to place the blame on, that would cause the scale to stubbornly sit at the same 2-3 pound reading. Some days I'm up one, other days I'm down two, all within a comfy range.

I guess I should be happy that I am proving, yet again, that I know how to maintain. But I have a serious fucking problem here: I need to lose. Maintenance is great and everything, and maybe I'll be bitching about the trials and tribulations of maintaining my goal weight once I reach it in six months a year or so from now, but at the present moment I need to lose weight like it's my fucking job. Even if it means I have to quit my real job.

I'm a tad bit angry because I've spent entirely too much time staring at the gray slate walls of the gym to be simply maintaining my weight. Please, I hope I'm not offending anyone. I'm THRILLED to have lost this much weight so far and it's wonderful getting to inhabit a smaller body, but I have serious health issues that dog my thoughts at all hours of the day. I NEED to get off the meds, I NEED to lose weight to get better, I NEED something to change.

I get it, I get it. If it's not working, then fix it. But I haven't the faintest idea as to what I'm doing wrong. I run every day, too much probably. I eat well. I do my best not to indulge. Yet the scale won't budge. WTF.

So I started to take a look back at my MapMyRun profile and my previous posts here and the problem was screaming at me loud and clear: I've gotten too comfortable. I describe my runs as "nice" and my gym workouts are "fantastic." Instead, they should read "horrible" and "makes me wanna kill myself" [not really though... suicide is bad]. And food? I'm still pretty restricted during the day, but at night it's anything goes. On Sunday I had steak and potatoes for dinner. On Monday I drank a beer because I felt like it. Last night, my remaining chunk of cookie dough took a big hit. Problems abound.

I should probably mention that last night we went to a new gym... well, it was new to me at least. It's the newest gym on campus (around 2 years old now, oops) and I went there for the first time ever last night. Boyfriend and his lifting partner spend their first half hour doing sets, and then the last half hour doing cardio, but I don't lift weights because I have the ridiculous idea that I'm a dainty flower (run with it) so I set my sights on being a cardio bunny. As I said goodbye to my gym friends, I was awestruck by the shiny new equipment and the ultra modern design of the place, a serious departure from the other gyms I usually exercise at. In my excitement I accidentally spent too much time on the treadmill. And then I spent too much time on the elliptical because I was distracted by an episode of Storage Wars that I've seen at least eight times already (Hester is a douche and Jarrod bought the shitty locker because it had a safe... big surprise).

When I came home I was feeling a bit off. I took my blood pressure (121/74), rested, contemplated drinking some water, but nothing helped. I realized what I needed was a gallon of coconut water but Amazon won't deliver my shipment until tomorrow so I had to make an emergency trip to the gas station for Gatorade. Last summer I was only taking Diamox and I tolerate that medication super well so I forgot to take into account that this summer I'm mixing Diamox AND Lasix AND I'm exercising in intense heat. It was like the perfect metabolic storm. After chugging half the bottle of Gatorade and waiting it out for twenty uncomfortable minutes, I was finally able to fall asleep.

When my alarm went off at 5:30, I would have sacrificed a goat for more sleep. Seriously. And then I would have made gyros. But that's not the point. I was beyond exhausted, I almost punched the wall when I bumped into it in my sleepy haze. I have less than 90 minutes left at work and I'm STILL exhausted, my body is STILL sore, I would STILL sacrifice a goat for a nap, and that's when I had my aha! moment. When I first started to lose weight, I knew I was doing it right when my body was beat (note: beat, NOT broken). Every day was a struggle because I was forcing myself to push the boundaries and my body took the hit. I was constantly sore and tired but it served as a constant reminder that I was working too hard to consider beer as an appetizer or cookie dough as dessert.

I've said it before and I feel like a jerk for having to remind myself of it now, but here it goes: exercise helps me to eat better, bottom line. Exercise is not an excuse to eat, so I must say au revoir to the I-burned-800-calories-so-I-will-absolutely-have-seconds mentality. It pains my soul because I like where I'm at currently when it comes to my lifestyle choices, but if I'm being honest my unhappiness about my health is more important.

So let's run this down, shall we? I need to re-evaluate my goals.

• I would like to weigh 220 by the time of my next neuro appointment (end of July).
• In order to accomplish this, I will need to exercise harder. Not more, just harder. Runs should suck. Pilates should suck. The elliptical ______ ____ (two words, 10 letters, rhymes with "should suck").
• In addition to this, I need to eat better. Mornings = so far, so good. Breakfast usually consists of a banana and a cup of vanilla yogurt (no, I will never consider switching to plain. I'll take the extra calories, thankyouverymuch). Lunch = a salad, always a salad (thankfully I LOVE LETTUCE... and spinach). The only "okay" snacks are fruit, and maybe the occasional sugar free 14 calorie popsicle. Dinner should be fiber-heavy, sparing on the meat, and light. LIGHT LIGHT LIGHT. I'm slipping back into the nasty habit of having heavy dinners which is a giant no-no.

If I do all of this, as long as I'm honest there's no reason I can't meet my goal. NO REASON. Huh... I feel really good about this. Yay for reality adjustments!

step from the road to the sea to the sky.

I'm in bed with a quart of orange flavored Gatorade suffering through a hydration crisis.  More on this later.

i guess we know the score.

Barefoot Running Injuries: Doctors See Health Problems Ranging From Stress Fractures To Pulled Calf Muscles

I'm going to blame part of this article on the sensationalist reporting that has become the HuffPost, but the other half of the blame... not sure who gets credit for that.

In case you haven't noticed, I am seriously devoted to the barefoot running movement. I can't run barefoot to save my life, my foot bed is a little too tender to handle the debris that covers the ground outdoors. But 3mm of Vibram's finest rubber is more than enough to protect me from any exterior dangers. That being said, I need to clarify some things about my Five Fingers experience:

Firstly, you need to know that I have had a life of documented foot ailments. In February, my neurologist diagnosed me with hereditary neuropathy which explains my inability to distinguish temperatures on the surface of my feet. This problem I've known about my whole life, but my doc was also keen to inform me that this condition presents with unusually high arches which have plagued me as long as I can remember.

In addition to this, it's important to add that I am generally uncomfortable wearing footwear, including socks. As a baby, my parents had an extremely difficult time getting me to keep my socks and shoes on because I was always pulling them off. This problem followed me through my child years and still presents in my adulthood. Conveniently, my neuropathy enables me to wear slip-on shoes (flip flops and ballet flats mostly) year-round because I have no temperature sensation in my feet even in frigid temperatures (true story: I love walking barefoot in snow).

If I don't have to wear shoes, then I'm 100% not wearing shoes. This applies to ANY situation: at work, at school, in the car... ANYWHERE. My boss has given up yelling at me to wear shoes in the office because he knows the minute he turns his back, I'll be kicking my shoes off in a corner somewhere. I hate shoes. My sock collection is pitifully small (maybe 5 pairs?) and they're old as shit and in immaculate condition because I never wear them. NE-VER. The amount of time shoes actually spend on my feet in total is probably around 2-3 hours a day on the days that I work, and maybe 30 minutes on the days that I don't work. I wish I was exaggerating.

When I first started exercising in October, I knew that I was going to have to spend big bucks on a pair of really good shoes. Shoe fit is especially important for me when taking into account all the problems I already have. I went through countless pairs, each worse than the ones before it. After weeks of excruciating pain in my right lower leg, I walked into the local shoe store determined to find a pair that worked at any cost. My foot problems disappeared when I purchased a pair of ADIpure barefoot trainers by Adidas. I am still very much a fun of the ADIpure line, but they were intended for indoor gym use only which limits their function in my daily routine.

I did months of research before I bought my first pair of Vibram Five Fingers in February. I was worried about having to make the transition to the barefoot style of footwear, but I trudged on. A few days in, I realized that VFFs were designed with me in mind. My "transition" to barefoot was non-existent because I've spent my life primarily barefooted. Unshod. Natural. As it should be.

The article cites doctors who claim they see 3-4 barefoot running-related injuries per week and skims over the very important fact that these runners are experiencing the "too much too soon" phenomenon. The very first paragraph of this article tells the story of a runner who went from traditional trainers to running SIX MILES in foot gloves in three weeks. THREE WEEKS. That's insane. I can't even break in a pair of Five Fingers in three weeks, much less dream of going from being shod to being barefoot. It's just unimaginable.

The next thing I'm about to say is a bit contradictory, so forgive me (but I swear I have a point). Dear runner, OF COURSE YOU GOT A STRESS FRACTURE YOU IDIOT. You did this to yourself, the shoes get zero blame. And this is where the author's fault comes into play: why not put more emphasis on the fact that the runner, however unintentionally, caused his own injuries instead of jumping to the conclusion that barefoot style shoes cause more injuries? Shoes don't cause injuries, dumb people who don't follow instructions cause injuries. It's simple logic.

I get a little testy when people attack the barefoot movement, especially when those people have never tried them. I'll agree, they're not for everyone. My boyfriend is uncomfortable being barefoot and I know beyond a doubt that VFF has little to nothing to offer him, but other people could definitely benefit from a different style of running.

The last time I tried running for weight loss, I wore trainers and I developed tendonitis and later dislocated my knee. It sidelined me for months years and by the time I recovered I was in no shape to resume my previous activity level. I've been at this fitness thing since October (7.5 months) and the only injury I've encountered was some soreness due to a muscle imbalance from relying too heavily on gym equipment.

To repeat: Five Fingers (and other such brands) are not for everyone, but I am seriously miffed by the sensationalist claims that these shoes are the direct cause of running injuries. Often times, it's over-training and poor judgment that lead runners to hurt themselves.

[WARNING: Completely unadulterated opinion: Heel striking is the devil.]

PS - banana and vanilla yogurt for breakfast, 8oz of coffee with cream and sugar, Greek salad for lunch. Snackin' on sunshine. I can't believe I get paid to do this at work.

behind the curtain in the pantomime.

Okay, so. I've been gone... I know this. Sue me? I had some family bullshit stuff to take care of. I got to spend the better part of the weekend chillin' with my parents' pups, in between wanting to punch faces heated conversations. Family is not really my favorite thing.

Since I had my beloved pups all weekend, I was limited in my ability to exercise. Don't get me wrong, Scrappy is the love of my life and everyone knows it. EVERYONE. Even my boyfriend, and he's okay with playing second fiddle. But having two bark happy pups in a small apartment where no pets are allowed is a recipe for disaster eviction. I couldn't leave them unattended, so I couldn't go to the gym. Sad story.

As soon as my parents took them off my hands, boyfriend and I were out the door on our way to the gym. We're settling into a new routine now that I'm officially a member of the University gym (ps I got my membership card yesterday!). I start out with a mile on the treadmill before moving on to the elliptical for twenty minutes. I hate going on the elliptical cold, but running first puts me at serious risk that I'll never get off the treadmill. I have some mad love for running right now. Our total gym time comes out to be around 35 minutes, which is all boyfriend can currently handle in his physical condition. If it were up to me I would not leave in under an hour, but the boy needs support and I'm happy to be there for him. 35 minutes of cardio just isn't enough for me, so while the man-friend drives back home I run the 1.3 miles of steady uphills all the way back to our apartment. This could quite possibly be the best idea ever.

A few things that I've learned about exercising since joining the gym:

• My insecurities about being overweight in a gym... totally unfounded. If anything, I think people are impressed that my jiggly ass can run for that long. Granted, I'm sweating puddles, but minor details... meh.
• Running outdoors is a bitch. I'm becoming re-accustomed to the pleasures of treadmill running and it's making me realize that running outside seriously sucks. That being said, I think I'm on my way to developing a knee injury and the only thing that could explain this problem is my new-found treadmill love.
• Running outdoors is a bitch (redux). I was running home today after the gym in 75 degree weather, sun shining on my very tan shoulders, and I hated it. It was so hot and I couldn't stop sweating. I had the genius idea to start bringing sunglasses with me on my runs, but that sucks too. And then... I passed a patch of something full of pollen (or anthrax maybe, who knows) and my throat swelled and my heart rate spiked from 145 to 174 and I felt like I was going to die. On principle, I kept running, but it was seriously unpleasant. Thankfully it only lasted about a minute, but I'm pretty sure I'm going to start a letter writing campaign to the city to petition to have that bush removed.
• Today's workout was especially rough, I don't think we gave our bodies enough time to rest and we were beat. Earlier today, I picked up a liter of coconut water on a whim and I was so thankful to find that in the fridge when I got home from the gym. I was feeling pretty shitty after that fight with the anthrax but 16 ounces of coconut water set me right. Boyfriend convinced me to skip out on buying these shoes in favor of a coconut water subscription from Amazon. I don't know how much of this is caused by my potassium-leeching medication (screw you, Lasix), but I imagine my doctor will be happy to hear of my new habit.

After our workout, boyfriend and I spent half an hour excitedly chatting about how awesome this complex is and how we both wished we could have stayed longer. But I reminded him that it's better to workout for shorter times more frequently than to have lengthy and sporadic workouts. I love the feeling after a run that I could have done just a little more because it makes me so excited for the next day. Pure love.

On an unrelated note, I didn't work today. This is important because I won't be working on Mondays at all this summer so I'll consistently have three-day weekends. On today's agenda: tending to my garden. My mom and my grandma had picked up a whole bunch of plants for me a while back that I had neglected until today. They were sad and droopy in their thin plastic planters, it was breaking my heart. After lunch, I set myself to creating a good soil mix, potting my new plans, freshening up my old plants, and cleaning the deck.

I was totally rocking the Bree Van De Kamp vibe, minus the whole uptight bitch thing.

I've been a fan of Desperate Housewives for years, but I gave up on the series when it went to that whole flash forward story line. Plus, I vexed the shit out of me that all the characters were these perfect monsters (except for Lynnette... she's just a hot mess) with perfect lives. I didn't understand how anyone could manage gardening, cooking, cleaning, exercising, grooming, child rearing, and multiple hobbies all in one day (I'm looking at you, Bree). It's all just... unimaginable. Actually, it turns out I was just very poor at managing my time. I could give you a rundown of my entire day, but you just wouldn't believe me. It was a perfect day.

So perfect, in fact, I wouldn't be surprised if someone punched me out of jealousy. It was THAT good.

PS - white button-up blouse plus black fitted capris might be my favorite outfit of all time. And I'm only saying this because I fit in my crisp white blouse for the first time in five years. And also because I look hella hot in a white blouse and black capris.

dream of ways to throw it all away.

Ask any Hawkeye and they'll tell you that it gives them goosebumps every time Herky sticks the flag in the turf. I don't expect you to understand, but it's kind of a big deal. And our flags with the letters I-O-W-A... bring me to tears every time.

I had my pick of schools but the only place I wanted to be was Iowa. I moved to Iowa City exactly eight years ago and I'm thrilled to have had the opportunity to spend the beginning of my adult life here. Everything about this place makes me happy (mostly). And the University has been good to me.

I'm officially not a student anymore. It's been a tad bit shocking, but I'll adjust. I'm ashamed to say that in all my years here, I have never taken advantage of the multiple gyms on campus (with the exception of the fitness classes I took a few years back). I recently discovered that I could get a summer-only membership at a discounted rate through my boyfriend (since he's still a registered student) and I jumped at the chance. As of 9:45pm today, I am a card carrying gym member (well... I don't have my card yet)!

My bosses let me exercise at work (in the fitness room that's usually reserved for hotel guests only) and it was a wonderful way to get started, but I needed a change. Boyfriend invited me to workout with him at the campus gym by our apartment and I jumped at the chance... and now I'm hooked. I do my thing on the treadmill, then the elliptical, and then I jog home.

As I was sauntering my skinny little ass home on my way back from the gym today, I was thinking, "Damn, what a great life."

What a great life indeed.

gravity has taken better men than me.

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/ann-bauer/poverty-weight_b_1500009.html?ref=health-and-fitness&ir=Health%20and%20Fitness

I won't be as bold as the author to equate obesity with poverty, but there is a strong, undeniable connection. I type this as I eat my breakfast (rolled oats with milk, brown sugar, and a pink lady apple), sitting 55 pounds lighter than I was exactly seven months ago [side note, holy hell fifty-five!]. If you look at the cost of my meal, we're talking pennies. PENNIES. Gallon of milk: $2.50; container of rolled oats: less than $2; bag of brown sugar: $1.50; three pounds of apples: $3. Grand total = $9.00, with no less than ten servings yielded from this lot. My breakfast today was easily less than a dollar, and I could feed myself exactly the same thing for the next week-and-a-half without having to go shopping again. The purpose of this exercise is to demonstrate that good, easy, CHEAP meals are not out of the reach of the poorer populations. I'm not at all trying to argue that those of low income are incapable of feeding themselves properly; no, instead, I'd like to highlight the other side of this story.

Since I started caring about what I eat, my grocery bill went down. DOWN. I probably spend around $50 a week on food, with the majority of my spoils being in the form of fruits and vegetables. I put very little emphasis on grains, sugar, and meat. Dairy isn't off limits, but I'm lactose intolerant so I'm careful with my choices (yogurt for the win!). Nowadays, if I have to cook it, I'm probably angry about it. I unintentionally went on a semi-raw diet and feeding myself has never been easier. There's very little planning involved, less mess, I've almost completely eliminated cooking oil from my diet, and I just feel better. It's caused a severe dependence on tupperware and cutting boards, but I suppose there are worse things in life. I hadn't expected a healthy lifestyle to be cheaper; in fact, I was under the impression that "health" foods are more expensive and therefore out of reach for me. Lean Cuisines are ridiculously expensive. So are organic items. But I eat none of that.

The expense in losing weight doesn't come from specialty foods or gym memberships (I have never been a card carrying member of a gym). It's the cost of a lifestyle. I'm lucky in that I don't have to consider the costs of childcare, and I live in an area that is safe enough for running outdoors (even in the dead of night). I have health insurance, which for person my age is become rarer by the day. I consistently work mostly daytime hours, so I'm able to juggle the struggles of exercising during "normal" hours instead of rearranging my life around the graveyard shift. All of things make a difference. There are no specific costs associated with each element of a lifestyle, but when thrown together in the mix called life it's incredible to consider the costs of being poor.

And then there's the money stuff. I do most of my writing on my laptop. I also have a swanky desktop. And unlimited internet. With WiFi. Do you know how much these things cost? If you've ever been poor, I'm sure you can imagine the staggering figures that seem completely unachievable in attempting to acquire such things. There have been times I would have to cut a block of ramen noodles in half in order to feed myself two meals, so the luxury of laptops and internet and smart phones just weren't options. Not only are these items expensive, but the opportunity costs are pretty high as well. I have been able to take charge of my medical treatment by informing myself through exhaustive Google searches. I have learned how to count calories from websites and blogs. I have recorded my food and exercise habits for the world to see (and for myself to reflect on) on this very blog. It is very true that I could have done it without the conveniences of my nice laptop and the WiFi for which I overpay, but the question presents itself again: at what cost? The time and effort it would take to get myself to the local library to have one hour of supervised internet usage... not exactly ideal. But I, as a member of the middle class, don't have those worries. Quelle dommage.

Other things to consider: do you own a car? If the answer is yes, then you've probably never considered what it would be like to have to carry your groceries on a bus. Do you own pots and pans? Then you probably cook for yourself. Even the "minor" details like utensils are things that some folks don't have/can't afford. Reality peeps, reality.

In short, today's buzzword is: *jazz hands* reality. [We're going for repetition here] The reality of the obesity epidemic is that it can happen to anyone, anywhere. That's unavoidable. Some people are lazy, some people eat like shit, some people have legit reasons for being the way they are. No judgements. But the key to reversing this trend is wrapped up in a nasty web of reality that prevents the lower class from being able to help themselves. I've lost the weight, anyone can do it, but it's surely a lot harder when you're fighting a dozen other wars at once.

Okay. I'm done being serious. It is really draining having to put together coherent thoughts. FML.

I've had an unpleasant problem as of late. I spent the weekend at my parents' and they fed me MEAT for three days straight. I love me some cow, seriously, I do. But my poor digestive tract doesn't know what to do with massive amounts of meat anymore. I didn't poo from Sunday afternoon until late (LATE) yesterday, despite having overdosed on fiber and other poop-inducing foods (blueberries and coffee FAILED ME... bastards). I'm happy to report that I'm back to normal now, but it was touch and go for a while there.

As I was contemplating disemboweling myself, I was desperate for alternatives to my #2 problem. I complained about it to my friend in a text that read, "If I don't shit soon, I'm going to shit myself." I realized how ridiculous that sounded a fraction of a second before pressing SEND and it sent me into a creative frenzy. "I'm going to shit myself" is a phrase I use at least twice a day, so then... what would make me shit myself?

Celine. The answer is always Celine.

I live in Iowa, I'm fierce about my Hawkeye love, but I'll always have a special spot in my tiny heart for Omaha, and this is why.

PS - I was totally at that concert but it's not my video. I lost all my shit when I murdered my phone (sad face), but a dozen other people put their crap up on YouTube for me to enjoy.

PPS - It's really important that you know I sat FRONT ROW CENTER for the Omaha show. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if my head was one of the ones blocking the view in this video. I wore a pink jacket and I spent half the show swatting the lady behind me because she kept poking me in the ass to sit down. I never sat down.

they say that jesus loves you, what about me?

I purposely didn't bring lunch to work today, mostly because our fridge is empty. We have water, beer, garlic, and cookie dough in the fridge at this very moment. Maybe some shredded cheese too. Maybe. I brought two apples instead. I think Jesus loves me, because my boss's wife brought some home-cooked Indian food for me. She's cooked for me before, but it's rare. Like, I would never purposely not bring lunch because I'm counting on her to feed me. That would never happen. Except today.

I had a rough, rough morning. I woke up with a splitting headache (side note: I had a dream that I was being framed for murder and Rosie O'Donnell was chasing me around an asylum) and I was exhausted. Five hours of sleep is never enough. Five hours barely constitutes a nap.

Onward.

Good things happened on Private Practice and for the first time in weeks this show didn't make me cry. I HATE CRYING (and it's especially embarrassing since I watch PP at work the morning after it airs... crying at work is no bueno).

Look at her being all gorgeous and doctor-like. Bitch.

Today, despite all the suck that is Wednesday, has not sucked.

TRUE STORY BRO.

Do you know what happens on days when I am in a good mood? Bad things happen. Bad things like: spending money I don't have. Or at least planning to spend money I don't have yet. Today's ridiculous (future) purchase: my wedding. For serious. It's better for my life (and for my boyfriend's sanity) if I'm in a perpetual state of crabbiness because it distracts me from making ridiculous plans, like looking into wedding planners and making limousine arrangements. Important tidbit of information: we're not even engaged yet. So yeah. I need a hobby, or stranger to come slap me across the face for no reason so that I can channel my unused energy into unrelenting rage or some shit like that. I can be unusually productive when I choose to be, and I have serious tunnel vision in that I can't see anything else until I've completed a project start-to-finish. Starting my wedding "project" is NOT something I should be contemplating right now.

In case you're wondering, I had my heart set on a ceremony at the Wynn or the Mirage. But, but, but. Caesar's is playing with my heart.

... and it's sentences like the one above that remind me how desperately I need running in my life. Running = no energy = no wedding planning = sanity. In short, running = sanity. Me = currently sitting down = GOING OUT OF MY GOD DAMN MIND.

That was a really poor lesson in math. Possibly a sound lesson in symbolic logic. Possibly.

soon turned out to be a pain in the ass.

This motherfucker. OMG. Seriously. I don't even.

I had assumed boyfriend broke my scale because he said something about it once in passing and then my scale went on the fritz. 2 + 2 = fuckin broken scale, right? My logic was not wrong here.

Then, the other day, I was so desperate for a solution to my scale problems without having to buy another scale that I did a Google search and came up with the genius idea to remove the battery, leave it out for a while, and then put it back in. Let me fuckin' tell you... this battery is pretty much brand new. So imagine my surprise when I went to replace the battery in the scale and all of a sudden the digital screen is coming up blank. BLANK. I have been in agony for dayssss desperately standing on my scale praying in vain for the 0 to do its dance across the screen. I just needed to see my weight just once. JUST ONCE. It's been over a week since I've known with certainty where my weight has been and it's kind of hard to lose weight and maintain a weight loss blog WHEN YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOU WEIGH. *sigh*

Stupid fuckin Energizer rabbit. BRAND NEW BATTERY, OKAY? I promised I wouldn't buy myself a new scale until the semester ended (1 hour and 30 minutes left!) and I would only do it AFTER I traded my books in for Amazon credit. So no scale... but I need a scale. My desperation reached fever pitch today when I charged out of my apartment on a mission: to procure a new battery for my scale. I made sure to tell the guy at Radio Shack "NO ENERGIZER... please." And he obliged. $6.35 out of my pocket, brand new battery into my scale. Fair trade, non?

Today, after days upon days upon days of not weighing myself, I finally got a reading. Except... it happened right after lunch. So I'm going to disregard what it said (read: I don't like the number) and I'll try again tomorrow morning. After I've peed.

PS - Here's a little treat for you:

You can't be my friend if you don't appreciate the sheer awesomeness of a coked-out Debbie Harry. I'm not advocating for the use of illegal drugs, but for serious... Blondie in the 80s was pure genius.

Watch this video from start to finish and tell me that you don't feel like going for a run. TELL ME. You liar, you.

PPS - there is a stellar (STELLAR) moment in the video at 4:07. Your life is not complete until you've watched it ten times.

i'll trick ya.

I'm running a slippery slope these days. I've discovered the joys of running at night. As in, late at night. Today, I didn't walk out the door until well past 10pm. Yesterday was about the same. There is nothing more wonderful than running in 50 degree weather (I'll even tolerate into the mid 60s). It's Spring and it's Iowa which means 50 degree weather is common... once the sun goes down.

My dad's a worst-case-scenario kind of guy... he's always been that way. So the idea of me running outdoors... at night... alone... kinda drives him nuts. I read about RoadID on someone else's blog and I knew I just had to have one for myself.

I got mine in orange too, but I promise my name isn't Tom... aaand I'm not a stroke survivor. Props to him, though.

There are two reasons I consider night running to be a slippery slope of disaster: firstly, pushing my workout until late at night increases the chances that I won't go at all. That's bad news. Secondly, running in the dark is seriously dangerous. Fo' reals.

My crazy schedule sometimes dictates when I get to exercise, and sometimes 10pm is the only choice. And when that happens... I dress in white, wear my RoadID, leave MapMyRun.com up on my computer in case my boyfriend has to follow the route to collect my body parts, and pray to Jesus that he doesn't actually have to do that.

Oh, and I blast Blondie as I ride run out to the sunset complete and utter darkness. Oh, what I do for endorphins.

il s'invite quand on ne l'attend pas

The Principal Financial Group means a great deal to me and my family. When we came to Iowa, there were literally no plans in place for anything -- no jobs for my parents, no schools for me and my bro, we barely even found a place to stay. Within a couple of weeks, my dad started working at PFG and set many of our fears at ease as we settled into life in the Midwest. Twelve (12!) years later, daddy's still a proud PFG employee and I have much to thank them for.

First and foremost, I am ever-so-lucky to have my health insurance through my dad's employment with PFG, without which... well, I don't even want to think about that. My brain and my vision are proof of the power of financial resources. Secondly, the PFG 5k held every year in October was and is the main reason I got into running to begin with. I mean, seriously... you put a Michelob Ultra tent at the finish line an OF COURSE I'll want to be part of it. I have yet to run this race (or any race at all) but THIS ONE is the one that means the most to me. It's always held the same week as my birthday and it courses through the prettiest spots in downtown Des Moines and it's sponsored by the company that supports my family, and BEER. Unfortunately, I don't think I'll be able to run this race this year (Iowa is hosting Penn State that same weekend... GO HAWKS!), but SOMEDAY I'll clear the finish line and I guarantee there will be tears.

It's been my deepest fear and greatest goal to be able to run a 5k. I've never been a runner and I've always been too fat and lazy and out of shape to even think about competitive running. It's not that I ever intend on qualifying for a medal, I just don't like the idea of large crowds watching me fail. My idea of failure: a finish time of more than 40 minutes. My running speed is the primary reason I haven't joined a race yet, I just don't feel comfortable taking my efforts public.

Butttt... tonight, after much encouragement from boyfriend (and the guilt of having KFC for dinner), I took myself for a run. Except this run was different. Literally different -- I chose a course I had mapped out a few weeks ago but had yet to run. It was 3.22 miles, my longest run to date. It took all my strength to keep from looking at my watch every few minutes to check on my progress because I was strangely fearful of taking more than 50 minutes to complete. I am happy to report that my final time was 42:17... adjusting for the 5k distance (3.1 miles), that means I ran a sub-40 5k.

Today, 7 May 2012, I ran a sub-40 5k.

There was a moment around mile 2, I was running through a street that isn't very well lit and has thick vegetation. I could barely make out my feet in front of me and little else. There was a break in my music, I could hear the tip-tap tip-tap of my feet on the ground and the rhythm of my slow and steady breaths. I closed my eyes and realized there was no difference between open and closed, it was so dark, and I realized that anything could happen. Anything. I could fall and hurt myself and no one would find me until morning, I could be kidnapped and no one would know any better. Or, I could run like no one was watching and surprise myself.

I'm still brimming with emotion from my run, realizing that I've accomplished things that weren't possible a year ago. I challenged myself and came out on the positive end. And now, I will forever remember the feeling of running blindly in the dark, "Et l'on peut rien" ringing in my ears as I allowed myself to be the rock star I was meant to be.

so i guess the fortune teller's right.

I'm almost certain my scale is broken. For the last week, my weight has been at 239.5 or 244.5. I'm 100% certain I didn't gain 5 pounds between Friday morning and Saturday afternoon. Also, I've pissed out my body weight over the last few hours and it hasn't budged even half a pound.

Dear scale, are you aware of how much water weighs? Cuz I've pissed out half a gallon today... sooo, you owe me four pounds.

I may have gone a little crazy with the Cinco de Mayo festivities (I can't help it, I'M TEXICAN) but in all fairness I ran like 5 miles at the gym on Saturday. My HRM said I burned 900 calories.

Long story short, I need a new scale.

est-ce que tu rêves encore?

I don't know what I was dreaming about last night, but I woke up in a great mood.

And thennn... I made my triumphant return to the gym. Springtime in Iowa means intolerable humidity. The heat isn't such a bother, a balmy 70 degrees in the morning, peaking at 80 in the afternoon... my desert-raised self laughs at temperatures below 96 degrees (ninety-six EXACTLY). But my last attempt at running outdoors led to me almost dying (seriously). The fluid hanging in the air made it impossible for me to catch my breath, 15 minutes into my run I was seeing spots and feeling queasy so I cut my losses and walked home. Talk about disappointment.

Thankfully, I'm over-privileged and I have many options at my disposal when it comes to sweating in public. Plus, my workouts have taken a turn for the blah and I was looking forward to shaking things up a bit. I ran one mile on the treadmill, three on the elliptical, then did half an hour of Pilates with my new BFF, Hilary Burnett. And then, I lunched.

I made the switch to wheat tortillas about a year ago when I found out that a single flour tortilla of the brand I buy packs a whopping 210 calories. Shocking, I know. I found a brand of wheat tortillas that is moist, pliable, decent in size, tolerable in taste, and only has 100 calories per piece. The catch: I can only find this brand at Sam's Club which is 30 miles from where I live. Sad story. In a pinch, I picked up Mission's 96% fat free wheat tortillas and put simply, THEY SUCK. SUCK SUCK SUCK.

I'm Texican, so life without tortillas doesn't exist for me. I didn't have sandwiches growing up, bread is somewhat of a foreign concept to me. I like my carbs flat, warmed on the stove top, stuffed with beans and rolled into a cute and portable package.

Welcome to Texico. We only eat burritos here.

I stupidly bought two packages of the Mission brand's abomination and it breaks my heart to have them mocking me from inside the fridge because I can't bring myself to throw them out. I could never hurt a tortilla like that. But nasty shit like that has no business inside my belly. Gross.

does anybody know what we are living for?

This morning, I was supposed to wake up early, go for a run, shower, and primp myself before meeting with my neurologist for my three-month appointment.

Instead, I slept through both of my alarms and a wake-up phone call from my boyfriend. I didn't get out of bed until 11:40am (my bad) which left me with a little over an hour to make myself presentable and get to the hospital. It was a horrible, wretched hour. I was nervous, anxious, fretful, and sick to my stomach thinking about what could potentially go down in the short amount of time I would spend inside the exam room with the doc.

I walked up to the receptionist's desk at exactly 1:00. Baby Jesus must have been looking out for me, because the sole magazine on the coffee table in the waiting room had the beautiful smiling face of this lovely lady on it:

I consider Mariska Hargitay's presence on this earth as a personal gift from Jesus to me

I replayed my most cherished Olivia Benson fantasies in my head while flipping through pages of the magazine during the time I spent waiting for Dr Stern. Most of the time when I have appointments with her, she's either finishing up with another patient or coming back from lunch so I'm accustomed to waiting. Mariska Hargitay helps to pass the time. But today, even a Benson-Stabler-Rollins mash-up wasn't enough to keep me from FREAKING THE FUCK OUT. Finally, the doc came out to the waiting room and called my name. I stood up to shake her hand and I noticed she was absolutely beaming. BEAMING.

The instant the door closed in the exam room she says, "I have to ask, how much weight have you lost?" Normally, she asks that towards the end, but I guess it was a very pressing matter. I told her 52 pounds even though it's actually 53, because... I guess I had a moment of stupidity. Fuckin' sue me okay? Whatever. 52 is still REALLY FUCKIN IMPRESSIVE (yeah, that's right. be impressed with me). She said "Wow, I can really tell. You look great." Then she asked a few questions about side effects (headaches, changes in taste), we discussed my weird bruising patterns and the pain in my soul from having to eat bland foods because my taste buds die at the sight of spicy things. She spent a long time flashing the blasted light in my eye to check out the swelling in my optic nerves/optic discs, and then did her usual muscle routine to check for neurological imbalances between the halves of my body. Everything checked out fine.

She scribbled something in my file and then told me that since I'm tolerating the meds and I'm still largely asymptomatic, my current dosages will stay the same. Then, she complimented me on my weight loss, followed by words I will never forget:

"If you keep losing weight the way you have, you could cure yourself."

Only once has Dr Stern ever used the word "cure" and it was to say that there is no cure for what I have. Over the last year I have come to terms with that, fully understanding that the best case scenario would be spontaneous remission. But today, she said "cure." I could cure myself.

Yet again, I am so absolutely moved (almost to tears) to see that my wonderful, amazing doctor understands me as a whole. Instead of ordering me to lose weight and making me feel like my condition is a direct consequence of my own actions, she's found a way to artfully motivate me in way that is neither demeaning or condescending. I left her office feeling like a god damn rock star knowing that I am not simply waiting for fate to subject itself on my life. I am absolutely in charge of this.

She refilled my prescriptions for SIX months, I usually only get scripts for 1-3 months at a time but the doc is confident that we've found doses that effectively manage my symptoms without putting me at risk for any serious side effects. SO YAY FOR CONSISTENCY. This is the first time since I first started treatment that I've known with certainty what to expect. Of course, I would love to be off the meds entirely, but it's a lot more tolerable knowing that I probably won't have any curve balls thrown at me in the future. I've been on this dose for the last month-and-a-half and I know how my body works and feels while taking it and I don't mind continuing down this path for now. Doc says if I continue to lose weight, I can probably stop the meds by the end of the year.

I think it's pretty clear what I need to do. Goal for the rest of 2012: kick serious ass at losing weight.

I keep hearing the words replayed in my head, over and over. You could cure yourself... you could cure yourself. Thinking back on it, I should have hugged my doctor. But we're both socially awkward and I don't think it occurred to either of us to express ourselves in a physical manner. I think it's not outrageous to say that by the time this is all over, I will have hugged her at least once. I could not have asked for a better experience.

another failed romance.

Many thanks to mes amis français for introducing me to the wonders of Star Academy. I didn't care much for my host family while I stayed in France, so we spent a lot of awkward moments watching TV in silence. I had no tolerance for re-runs of Friends in English or French, so our options were limited to the news and Star Academy (hint: it was rarely ever the news). I don't remember much about the season of StarAc that I watched while in France, but I continued to follow it once I returned home to the States. Spoiler alert: the winner of the season that followed my departure from France was Monsieur Gregory Lemarchal, who broke my heart (Google him, it's tragic). I kept up with StarAc through season 5, Ely had something good for a while but to be honest I couldn't get over the loss of Gregory.

Enter the UK's X Factor and the magnificent Leona Lewis. I've had a love-hate relationship with singing competition shows (as evidenced by my intermittent attempts at following American Idol), but I find the foreign shows to be much more entertaining. I've been watching bits and pieces of X Factor over the last few years, but my love reached a fever pitch last year when I saw Cher Lloyd's audition. So you can imagine the excitement I felt when my very favorite the Huffington Post did a piece on Cher's upcoming American debut.

FIIIINALLY. I've had Cher on my iPod since last fall, I absolutely LOVELOVELOVE finishing a run while listening to "With Ur Love." And unlike Girls Aloud (and that fraud, Cheryl Tweedy Cole), Cher Lloyd sufficiently fills the hole in my heart left by the breaking up of the Spice Girls.

So today, in honor of Cher Lloyd making her big U.S. debut, let's all go to iTunes and download her shit... or, you could just do what I do and take her music with you on a run today. Happy Cher Lloyd day.

live forever for the moment.

I have been a serious Spice Girls supporter since 1995. Loyal. Unwavering. Even when I was 15 and it was uncool to like the Spice Girls. In high school, a friend of mine literally torched her Spice Girls cds. I died a little inside, and then I went home and calmed myself with "2 Become 1."

Long story short, I have mad love for the girls of spice.

Unlike my Celine problem, I'm pretty open about my Spice Girls devotion. Everyone I know is aware of my devout fandom. I never made it a secret to my boyfriend who seemed cool with it at first, and then, one day he wasn't. I think he thought it was a passing phase, that maybe my SG love was a blip of nostalgia that would go away once the novelty wore off.

17 years later, I'm still rocking Spiceworld like it's my fking job. Because really, how could you not? It's easily the best running album ever. "Slam it to the left, IF YOU'RE HAVING A GOOD TIME, shake it to the right, IF YOU KNOW THAT YOU FEEL FINE." You're lying if you say you didn't do a little jig just then.

Now, the important stuff:
April 1: 248.5
May 1: Let's go with 239.0 (I think my boyfriend broke my scale).

All in all, not a bad month.

ANDDDDD... my new dresses are waiting for me at the post office. ANDDDDD... I'll be running to the Spice Girls tonight. So pretty much, today is the best day ever.