heartbeat to the beat of the drums.

Have you ever had one of those mornings in bed where you just know that you're doing things right?

That was me today. When my alarm went off I was really excited to get up and weigh myself because I was 100% certain that I was doing things right. I used to have that feeling all the time last year, when every day was a surprise on the scale and I felt on top of the world.

There hasn't been much of that lately and I miss it. Correction: past tense. I missed it. THE FEELING'S BACK, BABY!

The best gift I ever gave myself was the commitment to exercise and, a year and a half later, I'm back where I started: excited to see what's next. I was laying in bed last night thinking of all the things I did right, congratulating myself for picking the salad for dinner and resisting the urge to snack late at night, and suddenly I got very very excited.

Lately I've been feeling very discouraged about my current weight. Don't get me wrong, I LOOK FABULOUS and I'm super proud of what I've done thus far, but it feels like my final goal is ten lifetimes away and some days I just wish I didn't care. But last night something clicked. My body has been telling me over the last few months that I need to step it up, my body decided for itself that my weight loss process would be in two parts: the first 75, and the last 50. I've been thinking about this process as a continuous streak and it can get overwhelming to consider the work required to lose 100+ pounds, so maybe my body was trying to do me a favor.

Now I can say, Phase 1 complete.

The thought that kept me up last night in excitement was that fifty pounds... I'VE DONE THAT BEFORE. I can do it again. And if I break it down into little goals it doesn't seem so impossible. If I lose 5 pounds, that's 10%. Since I started making changes I've lost 1.5 pounds and already I feel like I'm in control. From now on I'm focusing on 5 pounds at a time, making sure that I'm healthy and happy and balanced.

Five little pounds at a time.

let the sky fall.

I understand this will probably be a very unpopular post, but I don't really care. Stop reading if you're uncomfortable with honesty and profanity. It's not getting any prettier from here on out.

Lisa Lampanelli wrote a piece for xoJane about being a food addict. The only problem I had with this article was its lack of preface explaining that it was presenting only a slice of Ms Lamapnelli's history with food addiction. In case you don't already know, she had bariatric surgery in 2012 and lost a ton of weight. Her words in the xoJane piece still carry weight, though.

I've never been to rehab or "fat camp" or counseling or anything of the sort. Not that I didn't want to. Never in a million years would I have been able to afford those luxuries at a time when it mattered, not from my parents' finances or my own. In my 26 years of thinking and praying and searching, I still cannot say that I have discovered a definitive cause for my weight issues; it's just too complicated to boil down.

I can, however, say that it gave me chills to read someone else's words on the harsh realities of ED treatment that match up so closely with mine. You see, my sister is bulimic. It began while she was in high school (I was 12) and it's been plaguing our lives ever since. I purposely use the collective "ours" in this sense because eating disorders are not personal struggles. It's not self-contained, it doesn't stay with one person, it creates shock waves that affect family, friends, coworkers, neighbors, passing strangers. I hope to never offend anyone who has ever struggled with an eating disorder, I hope you know that my thoughts are with you and I pray for your healing.

That being said, there is value to my story. It was far from easy being the fat sister at the dinner table. I can only imagine how impossibly difficult it was for my parents to have to be shouting commands from across the table: "You need to eat" directed at my sister in the middle of a hunger strike; and though they never articulated it, "Should you be eating that?" was always painted on their faces as I reached for my second, third, fourth helpings.

To put it simply, it has been a mind fuck. Strangers who didn't know that my sister was rotting away her own teeth and esophagus would see her new trim figure and say, "You look great!" meanwhile my dumpy self was off to the side contemplating which eating disorder would garner me the same compliments. Let's be straight: I never purged, I never starved myself, but there was certainly a lot of hate.

I can't say I blame my sister for what happened to me during this time, the wisdom of age has taught me that she was far too deep in her own trenches to realize that I was fighting a war too. I am still fighting that war to this day, but the terms have changed. I am singularly responsible for what enters my body, for the way I feel about myself, and for the way I choose to spend my time. I can make the point that (as a child) someone else was putting the spoon to my mouth, but those days are long gone. All the people in my past who taunted me, mocked me, insulted me, well... they're just background noise now. And the best part about life is knowing that, if you're lucky, you'll get to wake up tomorrow and learn from your mistakes.

If there's anything I could go back and do differently, it would be two-fold: first, I would tell my sister that I love her even though I know she doesn't always love herself; secondly, I would tell myself to smile even when it hurts and never let anyone take that away from me.

The biggest lesson to learn here is that we're all fighting something, we're all hurting in some way, and it certainly wouldn't hurt the world to show a little more kindness.

Things I don't talk about.

Breaking with tradition of naming my posts after songs I'm currently listening to, here I offer you a serious post. Plainly, things I don't talk about.

I didn't know what purpose my blog would serve in the beginning. I had read somewhere a long time ago that people who write down their goals are more likely to succeed. I guess I just wanted a journal to keep track of my progress, to officially state my wishes and expectations, to document what I ate and when I exercised. A secret, private, sacred place to keep myself honest.

My first post was short and misguided, but it served a purpose. It was the first time I made an official, documented step towards a better life. I thought I was going to crash diet myself into a skinnier, sexier body in a little over a month... just in time for a summer trip to Las Vegas. Spoiler alert: I failed miserably. I made it to Las Vegas only a few pounds lighter and it had little to do with my intentions to lose weight.

Less than a month after starting this blog, I was blind sighted by a medical diagnosis: Idiopathic Intracranial Hypertension. If I had been more aware of my body I might have seen this coming, but the simple truth was that I was sublimely ignorant to the state of things at the time. What you need to know about this condition is that it causes headaches and vision problems, and that 90% of those diagnosed with it are overweight and female. But it is idiopathic so the collective scientific community cannot say for sure whether weight plays any role in the development of this condition. I took solace in the ambiguity of the term idiopathic and convinced myself that anything could have caused this, even though logic and reasoning, several doctors, and the voice screaming inside my head said otherwise.

It's not me, it's not my weight. It's something else.

I played with that thought for a few months, thinking that the meds I was prescribed and my regular visits with my neurologist would prove that I was healthy and this condition would sort it self out independent of my losing weight. Reality check: it did not. I'm still "sick."

Everything above this line is public knowledge; my family knows it, my friends know it, the pages of my blog will tell you the same story. This is what I've been holding back:

The first year of my weight loss (starting in October 2011) was straight up deprivation. I took my meds without complaint, I exercised without complaint, I ate salads and veggies and tiny portions of grilled fish and chicken without complaint. Day in and day out, I kept my head down, my mouth shut, and I was pretty miserable. The moments of happiness during that time came on the scale when my weight would slowly inch down, but even then the happiness was short lived because the numbers on the screen were still too high.

I lost a lot of weight and I am extremely proud of what I've accomplished, but the power of hindsight has given me an opportunity to express those things I couldn't articulate back then.

First, being sick sucks. And the truth is, for practical purposes I'm not sick. I don't look or feel or act differently, but I know that on a paper in a chart somewhere a diagnosis is written under my name and that's going to follow me everywhere. The first thing I do in the morning and the last thing I do at night is take my meds; I am a slave to my prescriptions. I have to continually be aware of the last time I took my meds because it affects what I eat and drink, how I exercise, and how I live my life in general. Whenever I go out I have to know where the bathroom is at all times because it's guaranteed that I'll have to go at least once (I'm taking two powerful diuretics). I haven't slept through the night in months. The side effects of my meds are worse than the condition they treat. I am prone to dehydration and muscle cramps and an awful tingling sensation in my extremities, it's like a hangover that never ends. And the worse part, I don't even get to experience the fun part of being drunk.

That's another thing: I can't really drink. I mean, I do, but all things considered, I shouldn't. There's a lot of sacrifices that need to be made if I am to even consider having a few beers with friends, and even if I do things right my body pays dearly in the end. I eat differently, I act differently. It's what runs my life these days, and if you don't believe me look at the banner on my blog. "Navigating the strange world of eating well, exercising regularly, and not freaking out the people around me." I can't go on vacation without knowing where I'm going to run. I have to sacrifice precious space in my luggage to dedicate to tights and FiveFingers and sports bras. I'm that person in your group of friends who orders a salad (but really, I spend the whole time reading the desserts section wondering how happy I could be if I had a sundae for dinner instead).

I can't think about what's next in my life because I'm stuck in the now. I can't consider kids because it would complicate my treatment. I don't want to be sick and overweight on my wedding day so that's on the back burner too. I can't move forward until I'm healthy.

It's because of those things I just mentioned that I never talk about my life with IIH, because I'd rather just live my life. Instead of continually indulging my self-pity, I much prefer to continue running and eating salads and thinking positive thoughts each morning on the scale (even if it's not good news). I gave in to the sadness today for one reason only: to write about it and move on.

it's the only way to heal now.

I joined Spark People last week out of desperation. I couldn't understand why I wasn't losing weight. I was frustrated, willing to try anything, and I knew I needed help.

Everything above this line... problematic.

Problem #1: desperation.
Problem #2: ignorance.
Problem #3: hopelessness.

All of these things added up were screaming alarms at me, but I didn't take the time to recognize the real problem at hand. I took a few days off from blogging (and Spark People, and the internet, and this whole weight loss business in general) because I needed to take stock and reassess. There were greater things at play here that I couldn't see at first.

I will be the first to admit that I broke my number one super important rule of weight loss: don't try too much at once.

I never stopped to factor in what a new semester of classes would be like. Sure, I'm practically a professional student, but that doesn't mean that each semester is the same. Each class, each term, each year brings its own set of new challenges and I did not respect that.

Secondly, I didn't have a gym strategy. I rushed into reinstating my gym membership because the weather necessitated it. I'm not regretting the gym, I'm regretting not taking the time to figure out exactly what my objectives were. When I was running outside, it was simple: follow my half marathon training schedule (some generic schedule I found on a running website). The focus was on running quality versus quantity. 3, 4, 5, 6 km runs 3-4 days a week, a long run once a week, then a speed run once a week (cross training on the remaining two days). Someone else made a spreadsheet and did all the work for me; it was my job to dress, run the distance, and cross off the days as I completed them. It was easy because it was thoughtless. Transitioning back to the gym... NOT THE SAME PROCESS.

On top of that, I tried to add the stress of a new diet plan AND a new routine. The Spark People plan is very high maintenance. I firmly believe I can do it, but it was a double-faceted process that required following a new diet AND following a new routine by inputting what I eat, when I exercise, and what my goals are.. DAILY.

I failed to consider what a burden all these changes were, so I failed to realize the high probability of failure... which is not to say that I can't succeed.

PREPARATION FIRST.

They say it takes 21 days to create a habit, so for the next 21 days I am committed to new principles:

- Working on school work at dedicated times.
- Sketching out a flexible exercise plan, accounting for variables in my mood and the weather. AND ACTUALLY STICKING TO IT.
- Figuring out what role I want Spark People to play in my life (because let's be honest, this food tracker thing is ridic). Gotta admit though... I used a recipe last night and it was awesome.

Beyond that, I don't think I have the room in my life to dedicate much else. It's not defeat, it's recognizing my limitations.

alarms will ring for eternity.

It's Monday. Like clockwork. It's Monday, and like clockwork I'm sitting at work thinking of where my weekend went wrong. What I did to make the scale move in the wrong direction. Why this is happening. How? How! Oh god.

[To be fair, I knew I had no business being on the scale. And I know very well that the number I saw isn't actually my weight. But for a split second I believe it to be true and my mood suffered. Lesson learned.]

I've been desperate for a while now, but not desperate enough to make a real change. I half-committed myself to a new training schedule focused entirely on running and less than two weeks in I'm hovering at 50% completion. In school-terms, that's failing.

And my food situation... well, there were those chocolates that were given to me at work as a gift. I couldn't re-gift, that's tacky. And I couldn't throw them out, they had to be eaten. So I ate them all.

And then the Omaha steaks we received as gifts, those had to be eaten too.

And the food in the fridge, and the food in the pantry.

A memo to everyone everywhere: STOP GIFTING ME FOOD. It's not funny.

A long stretch at work and I find myself hosing a burrito and fries (really on the french fries, La Michoacana? I don't even like fries). Late night pudding because I can. A cup of milk here, a cup there. It all adds up, and I'm aware of that, but part of me doesn't care.

I've been desperate for a while, but not desperate enough to do anything serious.

I took a look at our weather forecast and it's supposed to be six shades of cold the entire week. If there's anything I know beyond a doubt, it's that (despite my weight not budging) the hours I spend exercising DO count for something. Just because I'm not losing doesn't mean that exercise is worthless, so I know that taking a week off from running wasn't an option. Drumroll please.

I reinstated my gym membership.

It was very unceremonious. I whined, I dressed, we drove, and I again realized the dread of running in place. There is a reason it is referred to as the dreadmill. I have an idea on how to change my routine to work indoors but for now I'm going to play it by ear. What occurred to me last night during my half hour on the elliptical is that asphalt has given me tremendous conditioning that I can't recreate in the gym no matter how hard I try. There's nothing like propelling yourself up a steep hill while maintaining pace, nothing like pounding your skeleton on the rough, hard, uneven roads, nothing like puffing your way through 8 miles in below-freezing temps. I can't get that in the gym, so perhaps it's best for now if I focus my attention on using the gym to develop muscle tone in areas that running doesn't affect.

If my hardcore cardio outdoor running routine can't lose the weight for me, I doubt strength training will do the trick because, as I've already alluded to before, I have a nutrition problem. I joke that I live off lettuce and Gatorade, and it's mostly true that my diet is clean and balanced, but then again it can't be. It can't possibly be meeting my needs if I exercise as much as I do and haven't been losing weight.

Today's change comes from my decision to join SparkPeople.com. I don't want to network or get spark points or do any of their recommended exercises, I think I have that covered. What I wanted from this experience was the access to the food tracker and the extensive list of food items, portions, and nutritional info.

The resolution is kinda bad and I can't make it bigger, but imagine my freaking shock when I found out I've already eaten more than 50% of my daily calories. I HAD NO IDEA. When I first created my account, I entered my height and weight and (out of curiosity) let it set my goal for me and it matched perfectly with what I had in mind: 50 pounds for a final weight of 170.

In the few minutes I've had to play around with my new account, I've learned that I was simply eating too much to lose any weight. I was eating well, it was the correct amount for maintenance but I have to cut back in order to lose.

And so I shall.

j'ai du succès dans mes affaires.

A bad dream about Las Vegas, an uncomfortable blanket arrangement, and a rude awakening left me less than enthused about running today (it was supposed to be 6 km).

PS - how about that... Vegas is less than 2 months away (EIGHT WEEKS TOMORROW). Can't even wrap my mind around it sometimes to the point where I barely even believe I've been there at all.

I was supposed to run today, but my body ached and I was tired and I could think of better things to do.

Like... have a piece of chocolate for lunch.

And... scratch more things off my to-do list.

And... Well, that's about all I accomplished. But it felt great. I spent an extra half-hour in bed talking myself through the very daunting business of having to go to work AGAIN (out of the last ten days, I have worked nine) and I managed to lift my spirits a little. It was hard to bring myself to go to work today, but knowing that this is the end of a very long stretch and the three day weekend I get as a reward makes it somewhat worth the trouble. Not really, but that's what I told myself during those extra minutes in bed.

food -
        lunch: 1 Russel Stover chocolate thingy, 1 tomato sliced with chunks of goat cheese and manzanilla olives.
        dinner: greek salad (lettuce, cucumber, tomato, olives, feta cheese, balsamic vinaigrette).
        snacks: Lipton tea

In response to reports that Britney spears may be headlining in Las Vegas (and the even more horrifying reports that Caesar's Palace has offered The Colosseum for her "residency"), I say fuck you watch the video above and tell me how you think Britney will stack up. Quite simply, Britney doesn't have the fan base or the talent to do it Vegas-style, and with that I say all hail Queen Celine.

still here dancing.

It's paying attention to the little things that have helped me find a way out of this rut. It's setting tiny goals to help set the pace of the day from the moment I wake up to the moment I go rest my head on the pillow at night. It's finding a few unexpected minutes in between tasks to try on that new pair of boots that have gone unworn, or to pair a shirt and a cardigan that you have never worn together before.

It was in those moments of productivity that I forgot how stressed I was. And in the minutes I had between accomplishing a task and dedicating myself to the next one, I found peace.

I woke up before my alarm but as usual I pissed away precious minutes in the morning and before long I was mad at myself for not getting started sooner. It's not that I need to wake up earlier, it's that I need to get moving sooner. It's so much more fun to Internet and play Temple Run than to... well, do stuff. Doing stuff sucks.

I promised boyfriend (and myself) that I would take the MONTHS of aluminum pop cans to the recycling center today to collect the $0.05 deposit that the state charges on each can. It's a colossal pain and requires lots of forethought and a special trip so it usually doesn't get done, but it's easily been six months since the last time we did it and the multiple trash bags overflowing with empty cans on our deck was starting to look a little trampy. Okay, a lot trampy. I'm sure our neighbors hate us. This process can be done at Walmart, which I usually try to avoid, but it's the only place in town that I know that carries the belt we need for our vacuum cleaner. Walmart is usually a dangerous place for me, and even more so now with my self-imposed shopping ban, but I set a goal and it had to be done. I got the store late and I was mad at myself because I was certain I may have screwed myself out of the opportunity to run before I was supposed to go to work, but I put my game face on and got to it.

There are digital clock readouts on the machines that collect the cans that kept me hyper aware of the time. 12:35... 12:44... 12:52. The minutes were slipping away faster than I could feed the cans into the machine and the window to run was closing right in front of me. A whopping 200 cans later, the machine printed a store credit of $10.00 and I bolted inside to buy shampoo and that stupid vacuum cleaner belt. I couldn't let today be another day that I skip out on a run so I remained focused on my task, focused on driving home safely, and focused on getting dressed to brave the cold without dawdling. Before I knew it, I was on the road flexing out my freshly washed tights and Vibram Sprints.

I'm trying out a few different paths in my neighborhood, different routes for different lengths so that I don't get too bored with the same scenery over and over. It's been really nice to start out a run and think to myself, "Where am I going today?" as opposed to being a slave to routine. The route I took today was a slight variation on one I did last week but it was divine in its differences. As I ran, I was acutely aware of how beautiful my city is, and for a moment a flicker of panic spread over me at the realization that the weather will turn eventually and the new seasons will bring more people to the streets I've been so happy to call my own lately.

Winter running... I'm kind of selfish like that. Aside from the distinct temperature advantages, running in wintertime means that I never have to worry about crowded parks or trails. Just the occasional psycho who feels the same way I do, and in that case... there's a flutter of understanding and respect as we cross paths.

I took the cans, I got the belt, I ran the run I had intended for today, I frantically showered to get to work in time, and found that I had 35 minutes to spare. It was during those 35 minutes that I put more stuff into storage, sorted the mail and threw out the junk, finished unpacking from last week, picked up ALL my clothes from off the floor, and I still had enough time to spare to put together a new outfit.

I'm feeling a little more complete today, a little more put together. I get to show my pride in my appearance with my new-to-me outfit (old jeans and shirt, new boots and cardigan) which garnered me a compliment (!!), and I have the extreme mental satisfaction of knowing that there's a little less on my to-do list waiting for me at home.

Satisfaction.

exercise: 5+ km, 34-something minutes, 500-something calories (I lost the details, my bad).

food:
        early: beef jerky, 1 slice of cheddar cheese
        late: 1 turkey wrap (whole wheat tortilla, deli turkey meat, 1/2 avocado, 1 tomato diced, salt, pepper, lime); diced tomato & 1/2 avocado in bowl with salt, pepper, lime; green tea with lime and sugar; carrots.

confession: late last night I had chips and salsa, because I'm Texican and that's what I do. No, really though... I realized I'm not eating enough. It was late and I was starving and I knew I needed something, so I chose chips and salsa and water and Diamox. Solid choices.

etre en pleure.

I wish I understood French as well as I understood Spanish. Or, at least, that the things I listen to in French had a "slow down" option. Plus lent, amis! It hurts my brain to have to think that fast.

I wish I spoke Spanish as well as I speak French. My future job prospects would thank me for it.

Let's ignore for a minute how fucked up that is. I'm mad at my brain for not being able to handle three languages fluently (let's not even begin to speak of that dabbling in Greek I tried a few years ago), but at the end of the day I should be thankful of the worlds and opportunities that have been opened to me thanks to my multilingualism.

Also, because this is a health blog:

Bilingual Adults Have Sharper Brains, Study Suggests

Actually, I'm pretty sure my brain is squishy. I haven't been able to jam my finger far enough up my nose to check lately, but I'm almost certain it's squishy rather than sharp. But it's comforting to know that my purchasing Celine Dion's latest French album is potentially saving me from dementia, especially since it cost me $25 and I don't know 90% of the lyrics (quiz me on "Moi quand je pleure," I actually KNOW that one word-for-word).

So even when I think I'm failing, at least I can say I'm doing something for my cognitive health. I think watching Les Miserables counts too because they say "monsieur" a lot.

let's do the timewarp.

I feel like I'm failing. Every day in some little way. A failure here, a failure there. A step in the right direction, then I trip and fail.

My goal (losing 20 pounds in 2 months) isn't unreasonable. It's well defined, it's totally attainable, there is a deadline and milestone incentives, but it defeats me every day. Step on the scale, no weight lost: defeat; having three chocolates after dinner instead of one: defeat; being too tired to even stay awake through dinner, let alone being able to consider a regularly scheduled run: defeat.

It's bleeding into other aspects of my life. I didn't have time to vacuum the carpets like I intended to and I fell down a shame spiral of uselessness. Same happened when I saw the pile of clothes on the floor of my bedroom, and the still unpacked bag of toiletries sitting in the bathroom (yes, I've been home for a week and I can't find the motivation to finish unpacking). I can't remember the last time I did dishes (it's been MONTHS) and the guilt at realizing that my super kind and patient boyfriend has had to pick up the slack gives me a heartache that's damn near crippling.

I sent him a mid-day text with tears in my eyes:

I've been sloppy lately. I promise I'll be better.

He pretends not to notice the state of my disrepair and told me it's okay and he understands. Barely two weeks into the new year and I'm already struggling to catch my breath, desperate for the time during the week to fly by so that I can get to living on the weekends. How sad is that though? I can't simply put everything on hold Monday through Friday and expect those around me to duck and cover when Hurricane Trainwreck has a bad day.

And the truth is, they're not all bad days.

Today Google lied to me and said the temperature was 13 degrees (it was actually 28) so I took that information and decided to opt out of a run. I wasn't really interested in running anyway so it was a nice excuse to spend an hour doing Pilates. I had some spare time to tend to other things after my ab crunching hour and I managed to tackle taking down our Christmas decorations, separating my dirty clothes from the clean ones (they're still piled on the floor, though; this time in TWO piles), and taking out the trash. It wasn't much, but it was enough of an unload to my mental burden that I'm feeling much more relaxed.

The scale didn't change today, but my attitude did.

My goal for this week, in addition to better eating and consistent exercise, is to tackle at least one small project once a day. An example of what's on my agenda:

• Tackle my closet! which includes hanging/folding ALL the clothes and weeding out the things that are too big/ weather inappropriate.
• Buying a new belt for my vacuum cleaner... and vacuuming the carpets. And since this requires a trip to the store, take all the Coke cans out for recycling.
• Do something with that awful mess of craft supplies spilling out from under my desk.
• List my old textbooks online to sell.
• Clean my desk and arrange my backpack (classes start next Tuesday!)
• Call insurance people to change my plan, call Benefits lady to tell her the strategy, call physicians to reschedule appointments.

It feels phenomenal being able to scratch things off checklists, so the length of this list tells me I'll have lots of good feelings coming my way once I buck up and tackle this shit.

Onwards.

food -
        brunch: tortilla, 1/2 avocado, 5 grape tomatoes (halved), sliced deli turkey, lime, salt, pepper.
        dinner: same as above.
        snacks: red delicious apple

exercise: 1 hour of Pilates for Weight Loss with Suzanne Deacon.

play along and catch a cold.

I think I have a cold allergy? I get these hive-like red welted irritations over large patches of my lower half after coming in from running in the cold. It itches horribly and nothing helps, not even a warm shower. It goes away eventually, but for an hour my life is extremely uncomfortable.

Food-
        Sunday brunch: breakfast burritos (1 whole wheat tortilla, hash browns, a bit of scrambled egg, 1 turkey breakfast sausage link, salsa)
        Sunday dinner: two 4-oz filet mignon steaks, 2 potatoes au gratin, steamed broccoli (this meal came courtesy of my parents who gifted us an Omaha Steaks package for Christmas. According to the Omaha Steaks nutrition info, this entire meal clocked in a 950 calories).
        Sunday snacks: 2 chocolate pecan thingies, 2 cups of skim milk, 1 tsp peanut butter, a little bit of apple sauce.

Exercise: 12+ km in <1:40. My iPod went on the fritz because I went for a run in super cold temperatures. I've run this path many times before, but for some reason today my iPod screwed me out of 1 km and the time was completely off (I also run with a heart rate monitor that times me and the times did NOT even remotely come close). So I have no idea exactly how far or how fast I ran, but the point is that it was long and good and I estimated my calorie expenditure on this run to be somewhere around 1200.

It looks like I ate a lot yesterday because... well, I did. I almost passed out after my run and I had to use peanut butter and apple sauce to revive myself. The milk and the chocolate came at the end of the night, hours after I had finished running when I just wasn't feeling right. It set me straight and I'm glad I did it.

Lesson for yesterday: running in 19 degrees Fahrenheit is bad for you, folks.

food -
        Monday breakfast: yogurt, blueberries
        Monday lunch: steak salad (4 oz Omaha Steaks top sirloin, lettuce, black beans, tomato, corn, ranch dressing)
        Monday snacks: almonds
        Monday dinner: Omaha steaks beef lasagna

exercise: none.

dans un autre monde, dans une autre vie.

Saturday shakedown:

I needed rest day, so I rested. I had every intention to run today but when your body sends you signs it is best not to ignore them.

I'm trying this new thing with boyfriend where we actually cook on Saturday morning/afternoon instead of taking the easy way out (*ahem* Chinese buffet). For health, of course, but it certainly wouldn't hurt our wallets to be eating the food that is already in our fridge.

weight: 219.0! (TOTALLY wasn't expecting that, buy yay nonetheless)
food-
        brunch: savory oats (1/2 cup steel cut oats, 1/2 can strained spinach, 1 egg pan fried without added fat, salt, paprika, pinch of parmesean cheese)
        dinner: steak salad (4 oz broiled top sirloin, lettuce, tomato, corn, black beans, ranch dressing)

I should also mention that I had a chocolate pecan thingy late last night because I was hungry and I needed to supplement my paltry meal choices (skimping on lunch will do that to you). I stand by my choice, it was 140 calories of WORTH IT.

pour se battre encore

I'm super duper sad today. I was super duper sad yesterday too. To the point of tears. Miss America mascara tears all over my face. Makeup smudge marks on a sock (that was all I could find to wipe my face with... IT WAS CLEAN) and on my pillow case, it was a real mess.

Oh LC, you feel my pain too? How sweet!

I was supposed to meet with my ophthalmologist yesterday after 13 months of not seeing her (don't worry... it's normal. I'm only supposed to see her once a year). I switched insurance in November and I had taken all the necessary steps to ensure that these visits with these particular doctors would be covered. I dotted my Is and crossed the Ts, I had this taken care of. My new friend Julie at the Health Benefits office gets to hear my voice more often than my momma does, to give you an idea of how on top of this I've been recently.

Many, many, many phone calls and missed calls and voicemails later, I was informed that my new insurance company had granted me out-of-network referrals for my two doctors (ophthalmology and neurology) and that I should be seen without any problem. Hooray!

Cue yesterday, 3:44pm: I pranced into my ophthalmologist's office, presented myself to the receptionist and gave her my new insurance card. She starts typing in some info, told me I was "so cute" and then hesitated. HESITATED. She says, "I'm sorry, we can't accept this. You're out of network," to which I reply, "I KNOW, but my BFF Julie at the Health Benefits office approved my out-of-network referrals through the end of 2013."

The nice receptionist lady went to a back office to talk to someone and came back to inform me that I couldn't be seen without an authorization code. Umm... what the what? Not in any of my communications was I told ANYTHING about authorization codes. Defeated, I left the office and called Health Benefits... again. No answer, so I left a panicked voicemail.

I sat in my car, my heart racing, not sure if I wanted to cry or to punch something. I made the decision to turn my feelings into something productive and called my neurologist's office to see if they also needed these authorization codes. A brief moment on hold and I was informed that they wouldn't take my insurance at all so I had to cancel that appointment too.

Long story short, my INSURANCE COMPANY is willing to let me see my regular doctors for regular visits, and any procedures they need to perform will be covered under my normal co-pay and co-insurance rates. Can I just take a moment to say how monumentally wonderful that is? Insurance companies are so typically painted out to be villains but the people I've dealt with have been so damn wonderful. The issue lies with the hospital that I normally visit, they and their associates (for reasons unknown) aren't willing to file claims with my very willing insurance carrier. It seems pretty stupid that the hospital would be willing to take me uninsured even though I would have absolutely no way of paying those expenses out-of-pocket, but they'll absolutely refuse me with proper insurance.

Over the last few hours, I've been playing with the idea of cutting my insurance altogether and instead taking that money directly to pay for my regular visits out-of-pocket, but that leaves me exposed to emergencies and a massive financial crisis. Or I change insurance, or I change my doctors.

The hardest part about all of this is that I feel like I'm not asking for much. I want just enough time with my neurologist to kick this condition for good, and I feel confident that this is the year. Just one year of unfettered insurance coverage is all I ask. JUST ONE YEAR. I pay way too much to be having to make compromises in my care when I've already made such HUGE personal sacrifices for my health.

So end of story: I'm sad. And I don't know what's going to happen. And I had to cancel both my appointments and I'm unable to reschedule until I know what's going on. And I'm going to run out of meds soon. I'm so very freaking sad.

Onward.

today's weight: 222.0 (woo hoo, progress!)
workout: 6.17 km in 46:30 (7:32/km pace, 636 calories burned)
food -
        brunch: glass of milk, slivered almonds, water
        snacks: one whole pomegranate
        dinner: greek salad (lettuce, cucumber, tomato, olives, feta cheese, balsamic vinaigrette)

trying to fight the in between.

Too many words, not enough pictures.

I'm not going to lie, I've been feeling pretty crummy about myself lately. It's stupid, I know. But when you go through a process that takes such a long time, your expectations adjust along with your pants size and all of a sudden your triumphs are lost to yesterday and you begin to feel like who you are, what you do, and how you do it aren't good enough.

For the sake of starting an argument (with myself), I'm going to go on record and say that it's NOT good enough. This, of course, is judging by the measuring stick of weight loss.

My purpose all along has been health and not the number on the scale, but I have an appointment with my ophthalmologist in a few hours and one with my neurologist tomorrow morning and I am almost certain that I'm going to waste two $10 co-pays to be told that I've made no progress.

I've been sweetening the pot with thoughts like, "you're an awesome runner!" and "you maintained your weight during the holidays!" and I'm proud of my accomplishments. But my health... still a problem.

I've been fretting about what to do. I feel so lost. I don't remember how it was in the beginning (despite my desperate attempts to record every thought along the way) and up until this morning, I had no idea what to do next.

The answer: start at the beginning.

The first few entries of this blog were a combination of a food journal, an exercise journal, and a measurements journal, because all I had at the time were numbers. So, numbers it is. The feelings came later, and so it shall be that way again; to the storage closet my feelings will go!

10 January 2013
current weight: 223.0

#	1/25/2011	3/05/2012	7/18/2012	1/10/2013
Bust	47.5	45.0	43.75	43.0
Chest	44.5	39.0	37.5	37.5
Waist	44.0	40.0	38.5	38.5
Hips	54.5	51.0	47.5	47.5
Thighs, L/R	30.5/30.0	28.5/28.5	27.75/27.75	27.5/27.5
Calves, L/R	20.0/20.5	20.5/20.0	18.0/18.0	17.25/17.5
Upper Arms, L/R	17.5/17.5	16.5/16.5	15.0/15.75	15.5/16.0
Forearms, L/R	12.5/13.0	11.5/12.5	11.75/11.5	/11.5/11.5

The numbers mostly stayed the same and I don't necessarily like that, but I have to remember that I'm not here to analyze myself, I'm here to record. So there you have it, my numbers as they are at this very moment.

For later:
running stats - 5.08 km in 34:59 (6:53/km pace, 521 calories burned)
food journals -
        no time for lunch: two pieces of deli turkey, a handful of slivered almonds, water
        dinner: greek salad (lettuce, cucumber, tomato, olives, feta cheese, balsamic vinaigrette)
        snacks: 1 cup french vanilla coffee with splash of milk, 1 orange, 1 bag of Tomato flavored cracker crisps (om nom nom)

and let it all out.

I hate New Years' resolutions, probably because mine have always been on the subject of weight loss and I have always failed to keep my promises. I hate year-end recaps because it's just a reminder of what I could have, should have, would have done. It's the shadow of my failures and a record of my disappointments.

I've always preferred to treat early January as just another day because, other than for symbolic purposes, it's exactly that: just another series of days. I'm pretty peeved to be writing this post in early January for the reasons I mentioned above, but the truth is, it's just convenient this way.

The funniest part about what I'm going to write is that I'll be doing it from memory despite being in possession of a plethora of my written thoughts from the last year. It's an exercise in memory and humor because my brain mocks me in my inability to remember things as they were. But for the sake of laughter, let's see how this goes, hmm?

January was VEGAS VEGAS VEGAS. My weight was down to 265 and I felt crazy skinny. I had new outfits for our plans in Las Vegas, new outfits for our outings and our friend's wedding in Los Angeles, and I wanted to show it off. I felt like hot shit on that trip because I ate what I wanted (only less of it), I exercised every chance I got, and I felt better for it (and I thought it showed in my appearance). To be honest, I was disappointed that nobody said to me "wow you lost weight" or any comments along those lines, but the point in January was that I felt great. Reaching the 260s was a milestone for me for personal reasons because it marked a 10% weight loss from my initial weight, and because (on the way up) 265 was the first time I realized how heavy I had gotten.

I wish I could remember more of February but I don't. That's what my archives are for. I remember struggling to find a balance with my classes, working, and exercising, while testing my sanity with 18 hour days. There was a lot of time spent at the gym and a lot of time being tired and sore. This month I taught myself how to run and made huge gains in my fitness and saw huge losses on the scale.

I felt the lingering pain of an overuse injury in March and learned the importance of rest days. I reached 50 pounds lost and reached another milestone.

In April I took my running outdoors and found love for something I always thought I hated. I think that's all for this month?

May brought the opportunity to join a proper gym, I made a gym buddy out of that man-boy of mine and I learned to settle into a routine.

I celebrated an anniversary in June and struggled to find balance between eating right and eating deliciously. And drinking. There was lots of drinking. June was the first time in a long time that I felt comfortable in my own skin and that sense of comfort lured me into a place where food and emotions are pals and I gained weight. Just a tiny bit, but enough to hurt.

I was told I could be cured in July and the Olympics and a strong sense of belonging at my gym told me I could make it a reality.

And then August struck. Two weeks' vacation in Pittsburgh, being jammed back into the start of the semester upon immediate my arrival home, and a poor adjustment to a new routine made for a rough few weeks that bled into September. Football, friends, tailgating, eating, drinking, and taking a Sun-Thurs only approach to fitness really stunted my progress.

October will forever be tinted with the disappointment of having to tell my neurologist that I had not lost any weight, followed by the disappointment I received in hearing her say that my condition had not progressed in any direction. Total standstill. On a personal front, I found my personality and my happiness, I had smaller jeans and a bigger smile. For the first time in a long time, I was happy to be seen in public, happy to wear clingy clothes, happy to pose for pictures. There is a new-found pride in my appearance that I hadn't sensed in years and I'm told it's etched on my face.

Food. November. That's all.

It snowed in December and I dug through my closet hoping to find the courage to become a winter runner. I can say with pride that I succeeded. I [temporarily] quit the gym, took myself outdoors and braved the elements. I was more laissez faire with my food choices and happily maintained my weight and my sanity. I rounded out another successful semester with a GPA of 3.945 and closed the books on 2012 with more than 75 pounds lost.

*************

Right at this moment, I have no idea how much I weigh. I could stab at some guesses, but they would be nothing more than hopeful wishes. My purpose in retelling my 2012 story as I remember it was to put perspective on things. If you were to ask me how I feel about my progress in losing weight, I would say I feel disappointed.

If you ask me how I think my actual progress lines up with what I would have expected, and if I gave you a truly thoughtful answer, it would be that I am exactly where I should be, all things considered.

I knew going in that my ultimate goal of losing 100+ pounds was going to take two years, and this estimate was based on countless hours of research and calculating and more research and constant adjustments for reality. In a year, I had hoped to lose 100 pounds, but in a year it was only practical to plan for 75. And I did it.

I had hoped to see the scale start with the number 1, but in 2012 I told myself it wasn't about the numbers. I told myself it was for my health, for myself, for my family as it is now and the family I hope to have in the future. I am still 20 ish pounds away from reaching my super exciting goal of seeing my weight start with a 1, but I know that in 2013 it will be done. In 2012 I saved my health, I created a new future for myself, and I found a new passion.

I feel like the last 3-4 months have been a wash, like my hours in the gym and running on the streets were a waste because I haven't lost much weight, changed my pants size, or reached any significant goals. Except for that time that I became a runner. A legit, official runner. A runner in the snow, in the rain, on the streets, in the grass, over trails and hills and through intersections at all hours of the day. A runner who could say 10 miles and then it would be done. When I started, I couldn't last a minute on the elliptical, but in a year I worked myself up to training for a half marathon. In 2013, it will be done.

I started 2012 in a different city with new clothes feeling like the fanciest girl alive, and I'm thrilled to find that the same is true for 2013. Except this time, my clothes are even smaller, my progress is greater, and my resolve never stronger.

For 2013, there is no resolution. There are no new goals, nothing I haven't said or wished or thought of before. I still have weight to lose, I'm still fighting for my health, and there are twice as many miles to run this year. The only thing that needs to change is my knowledge. I need to set myself to a new diet and exercise plan to account for my smaller figure and greater athletic capacity.

Above all, I hope everything stays the same. And by that, I mean I hope everything changes.