even if the skies get rough.

Thoughts on failing

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I thought I was failing. I was failing. If nothing else, I was failing in my mindset. The way I thought about things. The way I approached situations. The way I felt about myself at the end of the day.

But I don't just fail things. I'm an excellent student, so it was more like F+.

For weeks, pretty much since we came back from vacation, my weight has been hovering around the same numbers. They're still good numbers, but the lack of change was really wearing on me. What was I doing wrong?

Sure, I went to the gym every day. But as a very wise person recently pointed out, you can't out-train a bad diet. But was that it? Was my diet really that bad?

The simple answer: no. I let myself slip into old habits. Extra portions, snacks 'cause I felt like it, late night eating. Still heavy on the fruits, light on the carbs, limited in cheese and other dairy.

SO WHAT HAPPENED?

There was a week that scared the shit out of me. A week when I stepped on the scale and the numbers went: 221, 223, 224, 225.5, 226. Up and up and up. Every day I panicked thinking about what bad news the scale would bring and instantly I would regret every indulgence, as if promising to never have a venti pumpkin spice latte again would absolve me of the calories I had already ingested.

There were tears. Lots and lots of tears. AND BARGAINING. Oh, how I bargained. I don't know who I thought was listening, but I offered a plethora of things I would never actually commit to. And that's when my epiphany came.

Before I started losing weight, my weight loss plan was intermittent starving followed by closed-eyed wishes on the scale. ADMIT IT... you do that too. You skip lunch one day and then have a really big dinner, and the next morning you're disappointed when the scale has nothing good for you. FYI, that cycle will only set you up for disappointment. It never works. Ever.

But somehow along the last seventy-plus pounds, I must have gotten amnesia because I found myself doing that again. Indulging when I got the chance, and standing on the scale hoping for good news. If I were to be honest with myself, I would know not to expect any weight loss before I stepped on the scale, but that was precisely the problem: I wasn't being honest with myself.

Those white russians didn't count. Neither did the 12" sub, or the six cans of Coke, or the two slices of pizza, or the drive-thru I had for lunch. Individually, these were small infractions. One or two of them combined, my metabolism could have taken care of them just like that. But the collective? Too much to ignore. And the truth is, these were spread out over two weeks... just enough time to forget that it had happened but not enough time for me to have worked it off.

At the root of my problem was that I have gotten comfortable. I have found a sweet spot in my exercise routine and I've tested the limits of my metabolism to know exactly how much I can eat and still maintain my weight. If I were at the finish line, this would be a happy post. But I'm not, I'm sickeningly far from it.

The only solution was to go back to the beginning, to shock and punish my body so that it would again learn to burn all the fat I have stored in all the wrong places (dear body, if you're reading this, let's work on the arms, HUH?!). In the beginning, I was tired and sore and hungry and cranky all the time. In those days, when I laid in bed with a heating bad contemplating another round of Tylenol, I knew it was worth every single second, and there was never a question to stop or to slow down. Back then, I couldn't make it go fast enough.

So then, what the hell is my problem these days? I run miles like no one's business, I lift weights like a pro, and I conquered my eating addiction once, so why let myself slip? I still don't have an answer to that. Part of me thinks that I'm in my comfort zone. I've lived a significant part of my life at this weight, for the first time EVER everything in my closet fits, and I look as good as I feel. It's true that I don't know what comes after this, and so one could make the argument that I'm afraid. I guess I am.

Maybe just a little afraid.

Onward and upward downward.

Today, I got a double boost that I so desperately needed. First, I weighed in at 219.0. I have a sneaking suspicion that it's actually lower than that, but I won't be able to confirm until the morning. Secondly, I received the thumbs-up to plan for Las Vegas in the spring. I love event planning so much that (at times) I seriously regret my business and management degree. Celine Dion Las Vegas is a fabulous motivator for me because the best sequins come in smaller sizes and we all know I fking love sequins. HAHAHA... I'm not joking. Plus, having a thing (any thing, really) to focus my attention on is best because I tend to be single-minded. No, I can't go out for drinks. I'm starving myself for Vegas. I HAVE to go to the gym today... gotta be skinny for Vegas. IT WORKS (for me, at least).

I'm going to be very unlike myself now and declare... nothing. Absolutely nothing. I don't have a goal weight in mind for Las Vegas March 2013. I truly, honestly don't. All I hope for the next six months is that I maintain my focus and become better, stronger, healthier. And if I manage to bring my weight down to a number that begins with 1... or if I work my skinny little ass into a size 8 dress, you won't hear me complain about it.