you make me feel.

On Wednesday, I had convinced myself to go to the gym.

I was in class talking about how I was going to the gym.

I made several references to my exercise habits and talked about how it made me feel so good afterwards.

I came home and had zero motivation to go to the gym.

Boyfriend was on the brink of being convinced (by me) to stay home. Instead, he made the bold choice to go to the gym.

I... I just couldn't face it.

I spent hours building myself up, trying to get myself in the mood, bargaining and swearing that I would actually go. Boyfriend tried to talk me through it, and together we found that my issues with the gym were really issues with time. Going to the gym means 20 minutes on the elliptical then 30 minutes of weight lifting then an hour of running back home. The thought of having to do all that was just... ugh. And I just couldn't talk myself into going to the gym when I felt like the elliptical time was unnecessary, but then that only leaves 30 minutes of weights which is just a waste of gym clothes. If it takes me longer to get dressed than I would actually spend exercising, then you can probably guess that it's not worth it to me.

But then there was still the hour of running.

There was no reason why I couldn't just do the hour of running. No one ever said exercise only happens in a gym.

So I'm standing in my apartment parking lot in my running tights with no destination in mind, only thinking that my usual pathways weren't going to cut it. I wanted to explore.

Perhaps exploring rural Iowa at 9:30pm in the dark in 28 degree weather isn't the smartest thing to do, but I felt the urge and I chased it. I chased it to the highway, down the large unlit boulevard, into another town. Literally another town. To be fair, it's Iowa and leaving city limits isn't really that big of a stretch, but I did it. In the cold, in the dark, on Wednesday night.

I went as far as I felt safe going, knowing that my iPod had tracked me to be somewhere around 4.5 km from home. I looped around, and at 8 km I realized I wanted more. I took a side street that I drive by at least four times a week that I didn't even know existed and followed it until I found a familiar intersection. Coincidentally, it led me right behind my gym building. I ran past the panels of windows pitying the suckers for puffing away on their machines that lead them nowhere while I was learning the secrets of the road.

The dropping temperature and my lack of water quickly dictated that I take my run home and I landed on my front steps a few hundred meters shy of a full 10k. An hour and fifteen minutes after I started my run, I was sad that I didn't carry more water with me because I really could have gone a few more kilometers.

Slowly, unintentionally, my mileage has increased. I started running with the intention of signing up for a 5k race but when that opportunity passed me by, I kept running. I thought about waiting for my friends to catch up to my level so we could run together, but I didn't want to wait. So I thought, what about a 10k? And the idea has been lodged in my head for months waiting for the opportunity to hit me in the face. On Wednesday, I proved to myself that ten kilometers is just a typical Wednesday night run, so the next step? What comes after this?

I never wanted to be a marathoner. I never wanted to be that person because races and medals and bragging on Facebook isn't really my thing. But I can't imagine not having a goal.

So even if I never sign up for, pay for, formally train for, or complete a competitive half marathon, I think that's next on my to-do list. It only feels natural.

i'm giving you all i got.

I'm catching up on one of my favorite TV shows and of course the subject matter is adoption, and while I haven't been affected by this first-hand it is a HUGE factor in my life. Coincidentally, just the other day I found some (literally) long-lost family on Facebook.

These were people I met briefly once a long time ago; we spent a few awkward encounters together being told that we were "family" meanwhile feeling like complete strangers. I've always said that family is more than blood, but I would be lying if I didn't admit that I think of these people on more than just passing occasions.

The conversation starts, "hola prima! como estas?" and while the words are flying from my fingertips, I don't know what it means to be this person's cousin. How are you doing? What the fuck does that mean? I guess the more pertinent question is "who the fuck are you?" While it is very simple plotting our relation on a family tree, she is still a stranger from another country that I plucked from obscurity. But DNA says we're family.

A few clicks into her profile pictures and I start to see familiar traits and it's obvious to me that I am definitely one of them, at least biologically. The wide hips and big ass, definitely from my dad's side. I guess I was just always thankful that I'm not built like a fridge like all the ladies on my mom's side that I never stopped to consider where my looks came from. My newly-discovered prima and I are extremely close in age and extremely close in looks, and I have to say how absolutely overwhelming it is to feel this relief.

I never bothered to look for my family before now because I was certain of who I am. I am still certain of who I am, but my heart is racing realizing that I just uncovered a new piece.

Continuing in my recent theme of self-acceptance, I am excited to see what fruits this relationship will bear. It's almost unsettling to meet someone who grew up thousands of miles away from me and to find that she looks EXACTLY like me, she looks more like me than my own sister does. Already, I've found peace with my thick hips and my rounder-than-usual ass because, for the first time ever in my life, I have PROOF that it's genetic and not just a consequence of bad habits.

Who knows what I'll find, how long this will last, or if anything will come of it, but I can already tell you that it was worth the few days of agony that followed the submission of my Friend Request in being able to learn these few facts.

I feel a little more complete.

in the city.

If you Google "bloated turkey," this comes up. WTF.

The last time I posted a weigh-in was October 10. I knew it had been a while, but I didn't think it was that long ago. My apologies.

The troof: today, 28 Nov 2012, I weigh 219.0.

More troofs: This doesn't bother me.

These 2.5 pounds are not insignificant, and simultaneously also not significant. It just is. Please don't think I'm taking this laying down. Let me explain:

Since October 10, I have gone home to visit my family a whopping FOUR times. Also during that time, I celebrated my birthday with three parties (one of which was a 12 hour tailgating marathon). Weekend guests, Thanksgiving, alcohol, and pumpkin pie were all sprinkled in during the last six weeks et voilà, I gained weight.

Add it all up and it should be of no surprise to anyone. NO ONE.

Even more troofs: Several times over the last six weeks, I have seen the scale read "225"... maybe even more, not that you'll get me to admit to it. Most recently was on Sunday when I was CERTAIN that my almost 17km of running plus my good eating choices had evened out to zero Thanksgiving pounds.

At another point in my life, I would probably be upset that me weight has been stagnant, well... tightly fluctuating. I had hoped to be sub 200 sooner rather than later, but my pants still fit and I feel good about myself and I have a wealth of memories and good feelings from the life I've been living over the last six weeks.

Like I said last time, I've been living life. And a good one it's been, 2.5 pounds and all.

promis je pleure plus jamais.

So I've been thinking about self-acceptance and what that really means.

Before I continue, I need to make it abundantly clear that these are MY thoughts about MYSELF and nothing else.

I feel like my thoughts are those of two different persons sharing the same body. There's the fat me and the new me. Actually, those are bad characterizations. There's the careless me and the mindful me. There, that's better.

Careless me used to hate just about everything about my body, but careless me was still confident to dress and act how she pleased. Careless me never let anything stop her because careless me had a high degree of self-acceptance.

Okay, reality check: that last line is a lie.

What was really happening was that careless me had simply accepted that NOTHING WOULD EVER CHANGE. I was a fat baby, a fat kid, a fat teen, and therefore fat for life. Careless me had accepted that and decided it wasn't going to stop me from being happy.

There is merit to that kind of thinking, and to be honest if I had the chance to go back and change things I'm not certain I would. The only thing I wish to tell my younger self is how important health is and to treat my body accordingly. The problem is, you're healthy until you're not and the moment the bomb drops is the moment you realize all your regrets.

I spent the last week at my parents' house for the Thanksgiving holiday absolutely petrified that I was going to come back to my regular life being five pounds heavier. In the days leading up to Thanksgiving, I was thinking of all the ways I could cut calories, how I could eat less (or not eat at all) in a manner that no one in my family would notice. I was subconsciously planning times to slip away from the house to go running, I even went so far as to plan TWO runs in a day. It was secretive, destructive behavior that I have NEVER in my life engaged in and it caused more stress than it was worth.

I only let myself get away with that for two days before I took the time to think about what was motivating this, and that's when I realized: I was planning a food binge and my subconscious was trying to make up for it with unhealthy tactics. My brain was hoarding the idea of food, dreaming of all the unlimited servings of mashed potatoes and dinner rolls I would enjoy DAYS IN ADVANCE. Somehow I got it in my head that Thanksgiving dinner wasn't about nourishing my body, it was about gluttony.

And that's a problem.

Before things got too out of control, I took a stand against myself. It was a full-on wrestling match between careless me and mindful me and I am so happy that mindful me won.

On Tuesday, after two days of poor and irregular eating, I went for an 8km run in a cemetery by my house. I went out with the intent of running for calories, but it turned out to be exactly what I needed for my mind and my soul. I ran for an hour allowing my mind to sort out all my food and mood problems (funny how they go hand-in-hand) and when I returned to the house I was delighted to realize that my body was screaming for fruit and water. The feeling carried on through Wednesday, which was a designated rest day, and I was extremely proud of myself for not letting copious free food and alcohol get the best of me.

Thursday morning was a rush with an overcrowded house and I took that as a sign that I needed to run. I went to my trusty cemetery with no distance goal in mind, running half for pleasure and half for hunger moderation. I managed 8.32km in 58 minutes, and while it's a distance I am extremely proud of, I knew I could have gone further but time constraints held me back. Regardless, I spent a beautiful hour in the park with dozens of other runners, bikers, walkers-of-dogs, and those scattered few that came to honor the dead. My family thought I was crazy for going for a run on a holiday (it does seem like an odd thing to do) but even without the calorie expenditure, I will always argue for an hour of exercise if only to clear my head.

Mindful me won the exercise battle by a landslide. I'm very happy that I am able to see the benefits of exercise beyond the merits of burning calories (because let's be honest, we all think "hmm... I just burned off _______" even though everyone knows it doesn't work like that). But careless me still thinks "those mashed potatoes would feel great in my mouth." Careless me always wants another glass of champagne. Careless me always says "yes" to pie and ice cream, even if my stomach is full.

But.

Careless me would never walk into a store and buy bright blue skinny jeans. Because even though careless me thought she had reached self-acceptance, in reality she had just given up. Given up trying to lose weight and be healthy, given up keeping with fashion trends, given up caring. Who cares if my pants are a size 18? Who cares if I look bad? Who cares if my outfit is shapeless and colorless and without thought?

"It is what it is."

Too many times, careless me gave into that type of thinking and too many times careless me missed out on something greater because I gave up fighting in the name of "self-acceptance." It was just defeat in disguise.

I ran off to a clothing store on Thanksgiving day to cash in on a sale. It was 7pm, I had the store mostly to myself, and I walked straight up to the rack of colored skinny jeans and I debated between the red and the blue. Both were terrifying options but I was tired of looking at all the trendy girls in public with a jealous eye wishing I could be as bold. Bold indeed: I took the blue. In a smaller size.

Mindful me was being reckless as I took the jeans (along with 40 other items) to the checkout counter without having tried them on first. I told myself I would take them home, throw away the tags and receipt, and I would hang onto them until they fit AND I wore them in public. If they fit right away, I would wear them right away. That's what I promised myself.

Imagine my terror when I found that the button buttoned and the zipper zipped. In order to keep myself from becoming a liar, I HAD TO take the jeans out in public. I don't look like Kate Middleton, nor will I ever, but mindful me was BEAMING out in public on Friday feeling fabulous in my bright blue jeans, black tank, white fleece, and black wedges. Mindful me wasn't worried about the size of my thighs, how my butt looked, or what people thought of me.

I felt fabulous.

So maybe the jeans are begging for attention, and I'll probably get it every time I go out. Maybe it's flashy and out there, but who says I don't deserve it? If you ask me, I think that's what self-acceptance is all about.

c'est comme la mer et les marées.

I've been avoiding this. This little blog right hurr. It used to be my refuge, the place where I shared my failures and basked in my happiness and obsessively combed through my archives looking for subtle hints that might give me more insight into my own psyche.

I have been avoiding all of it.

There's a fairly good explanation for it, at least:

I've been busy living.

In the weeks that have passed since my last post, I've been battling a 8-9 pound weight gain. When I first saw the number on the scale, I thought I would be extraordinarily disappointed in myself for slipping in the wrong direction, until I realized how absolutely unproductive that would be. Instead, I fought back.

I stopped to figure out how it happened. What was I eating that I knew I shouldn't be? Why was I not looking forward to exercising? When were things at their worst? Where could I make simple changes?

I've found that booze in any quantity and for any reason is... counterproductive. I have more incendiary things to say, but I'll leave that for another time seeing as how I'm about to embark on a week-long vacation that will be soaked in alcohol.

Also, I have drifted away from plain water and into the arms of flavored drinks. It's been a nonstop barrage of Gatorade, lemonade, Crystal Lite, and diet sodas. I absolutely know better, I just can't get myself to care.

Vegetables have stopped appealing to me. The good news is that I'm at least mindful of my caloric intake so my weight has reached a much more acceptable level, but that's not to say that I'm doing it healthily.

In my dreams [literally] I was doing calculations on how much weight I've lost since this time last year. Initially I was disappointed (mostly because I lack perspective) until I took a real good look at 1) where I had been in the last few years and 2) where I actually am now. It's taken a tremendous amount of effort to see my current weight as a positive thing as opposed to the glaring failure it feels like. Instead of embracing my new skinnier frame, I have been criticizing myself for not having met some of my goals [yet]. But it's pointless to punish myself for failing to be something I'm not (if that makes sense?). I'm not 199 pounds... not right at this moment. Which is not to say I won't ever be. Which is not to say it's not worth fighting for. Which is not to say that I failed, because where I'm standing right now feels pretty damn good. AND THAT COUNTS.

Tonight I will be headed (first east then) west for an entire week at home with my family for the Thanksgiving holiday. I know it's a few days early, but I'd like to take this opportunity to run through a few important thank yous:

I'd like to give thanks for doctors, all doctors, but especially mine.
For health insurance, and friendly health insurance employees who take the time to look up information for me.
For all the countless souls online who took the time to write about things they know... about anything. For all the hours I've spent learning and growing and becoming excited over such words.
For shoes. And running. And all the nice people I run into outside who are always so friendly. For everyone who, in whatever tiny denomination, has helped me feel comfortable in spandex... in public.
For all the negative comments and the bad looks and unsolicited criticism in the form of "advice." And 100x more importantly, all the nice things people have had to say. The kind, the encouraging, the supportive, the complimentary. All of it.

Above weighing a certain weight or looking a certain way, I wanted this journey to end in the realization that I could be a normal person despite all my food-related issues. I had expected this feeling to come out of years of practice, so I'm pleased to announce my reemergence from my blog-vacation being fully in possession of "normal" people qualities.

It has not been without struggle, but the last month has been an exercise in how to enjoy one's self, go overboard, and clean up the mess in a healthy manner. And I succeeded. Blissfully.

[PS - today's banner picture is a nod to my favorite, the Steelers, and my new favorite, Thor aka Kiesel. And it's also a celebration of the fact that I am UNDER 100 KGS and maintaining it. Two-digit weight for the win.]