back to life.

It's been a long week, and I'm going in for my fourth straight day at the gym (#stressfracture say whaaa?) and I could really use some new tunes. Particularly this.

NOW.

(Seriously, wtf is with this Tuesday bullshit?)

cracked the code.

If you aren't already rocking to this song, you need to hop on the train. NOW.

Today was the first day of the fall semester. I'm going to try to keep this short.

I have a lot of anxiety. A LOT. I've gotten really good at hiding it, but it's a problem that's always there and coping isn't always easy. New classes, new schedule, new routine, new everything... all of it sent me into a tizzy. Not quite full-blown panic attack, but definitely the kind that keeps you up at night and makes it hard to breathe. This used to rule my life but thankfully I've gotten much better at talking myself down before I'm completely incapacitated. Being prepared, visualizing scenarios, and always having a back-up plan are ways I help myself through it and it helps!

I woke up early, ate breakfast, took the bus to campus, then had my first class. I met a kid named Nick who is from my hometown. I gotta admit, as an older student it's comforting to be able to connect with anyone over anything, sometimes I just feel so out of place. I had an hour break between classes, I found an empty table in a commons area and had my lunch (tomato and avocado on a wheat tortilla, water, almonds) and did some reading. I headed to my next class, Spanish, which was a primary source of my anxiety and I survived! It was a big deal when I realized how much time had elapsed without my noticing, I love that I was able to get past my anxiety and enjoy being in the moment rather than obsessing about the clock.

After class I went to the campus rec center and familiarized myself with the locker rooms. My dependence on public transportation now means that I get to carry a ton of crap with me everywhere and I just don't trust my wallet, laptop, and iPad to sit defenseless in open cubbies while my back is turned on the treadmill. I ran 2 miles on the treadmill, it would have been more but my heart rate was way up and my foot wasn't taking it well, and then I lifted weights and stretched.

I parked myself under a tree on a patch of sprawling green grass to enjoy the breeze while I waited for my bus to take me home.

I had some leftovers for dinner, then I napped in bed still wearing my gym clothes covered in sweat. I was so tired you couldn't even convince me that sweaty gym clothes in bed was a bad idea, although in hindsight... eff.

It was pretty much the perfect day. And I get to do it tomorrow.

OH OH OH. Not entirely sure what is going on, but I weighed in at 208.5 this morning. TOTAL SHOCK.

summertime sadness.

1. As of Sunday, summer is officially coming to an end. Sadness.
2. Had my regular appointment with my neurologist yesterday... I was so tired that I may have glossed over some potentially good news? I was under a serious haze of sleepiness so maybe it didn't happen exactly as I remember. She said she thinks there's still some swelling in my left eye but she wasn't definitive. And then she started talking about monitoring me over the next 6 months and then coming off the meds. But like I said, I was sleep deprived. I don't want to get prematurely excited.
3. There's a new outreach lab at the hospital where I have my appointments, which I don't entirely understand since the main laboratory where I have my blood drawn is convenient enough. I was told to go to the outreach lab yesterday... I'll be nice because I understand that it's new, but it was very badly managed. Very badly. I waited as long as my nerves were still controllable before I gave up and went to the main lab... like I should have just done in the first place. Smh.
4. My gym membership is officially reinstated on Monday. Can't. Handle. Excitement.
5. I think I'm ready to declare that my foot is good to go. It's been over four months since the initial incident and I have been kind to my body. It's time to hit it hard.

6. I had... a scare. I was embarrassed to admit it so I've been sitting on the information for a few days, but deep down I knew I wasn't doing myself any favors. I started with baby steps... saying it out loud to myself, saying it out loud to my boyfriend, saying it out loud to my BFF. And now I'm going to share it here.

I've run and/or exercised this summer fewer times than I have fingers and I let myself off the hook for the sake of my foot's health. The exercise wasn't a huge issue minus missing my favorite stress relieving activity, but what I did with the rest of my time what downright shameful. I ate... and ate... and ate. I kept making excuses for myself... Chicago is one of the best food cities in the world and I spent many, many weekends eating my way through the suburbs. And my parents... BEST COOKS EVER. And the Iowa State Fair... one of the top fairs in the country. I guess I had food #FOMO. I was eating like shit, not keeping a routine, and not exercising.

I wasn't surprised when I stepped on the scale last weekend and saw 218.0 between my toes. Not surprised, but deeply disappointed. Most of the summer my weight was hovering at or around where it was pre-stress fracture and I think I started to believe that I could eat anything. But 218? I worked so hard to break through that plateau earlier this year and seeing those numbers again damn near broke my heart.

I took the news with the seriousness it deserved and immediately changed my habits. A week later, I am beyond relieved to see the scale read 212.5.

So the goal for this weekend is to get my shit together. To remember how awful it felt to see that I had gained weight. To get back into a routine. To become the rock star that I know I am.

dancing through the fire.

17 Heart-Stopping foods at the Iowa State Fair

Hi. I've been gone. Deal with it.

Guess where I've been? Guess.

The Iowa State Fair.

So, first... story: I grew up in Texas, and I'm pretty sure the Texas State Fair is in Dallas, and I lived nowhere close to Dallas. State Fairs never used to be my "thing." And then we moved to Iowa and we knew nothing about our new city/state other than where to find the grocery store and the closest park. Iowa is... kinda boring. I love me some Iowa, but seriously... you have to know where to find entertainment here; it's not like living in a large city where opportunities smack you in the face as soon as you walk out the door. We moved to Des Moines in June 2000, spent the first few weeks unpacking and finding our new favorite places, and once that was finished we took to occupying our time with lots and lots of TV (because, like I said, there's nothing to do here). By July, advertising for the State Fair was on full blast and we figured what the hell. Sprung for a family pack of tickets and made a day of it.

Thirteen years have since passed and... I FUCKIN LOVE THE IOWA STATE FAIR. I can't tell you how much of my good feelings-ness towards the fair is because we had nothing else to do that first summer or how much of it is legitimate love, all I know is that I have good memories and I can always count on the fairgrounds to serve as my happy place.

So that's my story.

The point is... I went to the fair. Thank God I saw that BuzzFeed page after I had already gone. We're not going to discuss how many of the foods I ate from that list, suffice it to say that it was several and I am not ashamed.

I don't know how to explain it, but having Iowa-made honey lemonade and deep fried oreos and looking at GIANT farm animals (a 3200 pound bull, and a pig with nuts bigger than my head) makes me so, so, so happy. Corn-fed and proud of it.

My skinny jeans still fit, so that's good at least.

hear me.

Do you ever hear a song and it moves you (whatever that means)? Like, for a few minutes the world stops and your heart beats faster and you're just so relieved to hear that someone put your feelings to music?

Okay, well, mostly I think Katy Perry music is shit (and by that what I really mean is that I'm a massive fan and I have no shame), but this song. THIS SONG. It got me.

I'm not going to argue about the depth of the lyrics (in fact I think it's overall pretty shallow), but I can't deny that this song makes me wanna get up.

Made me throw on my new running tights.

Made me slip on my favorite Five Fingers.

Made me tie my hair back, dig up my RoadID,

and head out the door.

In the dark. At 1am.

With absolutely no one in the world knowing my intentions.

Pressed play on my iPod

... and ran.

No direction in mind, no distance planned. Just, running.

The first thing to hit me was a 60 degree breeze to remind me why I absolutely love this.

And then the panic sunk in:

I haven't had a proper run in months.

And my muscle tone has seriously suffered.

And my lungs... not what I remembered.

I hit the first hill just as the chorus started.

'Cause I am a champion, and you're gonna hear me roar.

thoughts on bullying.

It seems as if a lot of attention has been paid to bullying as of late. Stories of kids hurting themselves, court cases, even celebrities getting in on the action by admitting they were bullied as kids, too. I don't know if it's my perception of disproportionate media attention, but I feel like maybe it's the norm to be bullied? I don't really know because I grew up in the 90s when bullying wasn't really a thing. If a kid made fun of you in school and you told a teacher it was "tattling," or if you told your parents they would just tell you not to pay any attention and get the fuck over it [or at least that's what my parents did]. Whatever the case, I can tell you that I'm in the minority when it comes to bullying.

I was fat, awkward, and weird looking. That trifecta of social ostracism should have held me back in school but it never bothered me that I only ever had two or three friends. I was always picked last in gym class, I hated "Wellness Wednesdays" (30 minutes of continuous running), and the rare rainy days that we spent doing gymnastics indoors would set me off into cold sweats. But I persisted. I never felt the need to be apologetic or ashamed of my body. I was unusually tall for my age and everyone in my family was fat; it made perfect sense to me that I was meant to be that way. I knew that things were said about me, but I miraculously grew up with a strong sense of self-esteem and any person who was bold enough to criticize me to my face was likely to feel my rage ten-fold. True story: a kid who made fun of me for being fat in 4th grade never did it again after I put him in his place. I won't repeat what I said to him because it was absolutely brutal, but even at 9 years old I had a vigorous sense of justice and I felt like the only way to stop this kid from hurting me was to hurt him back. To this day I feel awful about the words I spewed at him but my experiment proved successful and he never said a mean thing to me again.

Sure, it sucked going to the stores and not being able to shop in the girls' section, I had matured into juniors' and women's sizes way too early but that wasn't entirely due to my weight. You see, I was almost 5 feet tall by the time I reached elementary school and I measured a whopping 5'7" when I was 11 years old. Pants never fit me, not at the waist and definitely not in the leg. In 6th grade a popular skinny girl once laughed at me for having high-water pants in front of everyone at recess. So I called her an immigrant... in front of everyone at recess. Of course I knew my pants were too short and of course I was embarrassed by it, but we were poor and I was abnormally tall and there was nothing my 12 year old self could do about that, so I made peace early on with the factors that were beyond my control. I'll never forget the look on that girl's face as she laughed at my pants, but I also will never forget the look on that girl's face as I taught her what it feels like to be publicly shamed.

News flash: I can buy new pants, you will always be an asshole.

Looking back on it, I know beyond a doubt that I am in the minority group when it comes to bullying. I wasn't bullied because I was the bully. If I could go back and apologize to all the people I hurt it would be a half-apology along the lines of, "I'm sorry for hurting you but you hurt me first." I hit below the belt, hard and often, but I never threw the first punch. I've spent a lot of time pondering my defensive reflexes and you don't have to dig very deep to find the source: I, the bully, had a bully too. If you follow the trail of pain you'll find that people only act this way... people only hurt other people because they're being hurt themselves. It's not that I wanted to cause permanent emotional scars to my peers but I think this was my psyche's way of dealing with my own pain from the bullying I suffered at home. And if you follow that path, you'll find that my personal bully was being hurt by someone too.

It took years before I ever found out why my bully, my sister, acted the way she did, and it's certainly not a topic to be discussed here (or anywhere. ever.) but it provided powerful insights into the trajectory of pain and gave me control over my own healing process.

The thing that has baffled me about bullying in general is how people choose to criticize things that cannot be controlled. And the cycle never stops and it serves no purpose. I had a shocking exchange with my brother a few weeks ago; he's young but he's very well aware of the struggles my entire family has had with weight, and he's been witnessing my personal transformation over the last couple of years which is why this scene struck me as so poignant. My family and I were playing games around the dining room table (a common occurrence at my parents' house) when I won a round of cards. I joyfully fist-pumped into the air, being merciless in my taunting (LOSERS, LOOOOOSERS) when my brother brought my arm fat to my attention.

Yes, I have arm fat, I said to him. What do you want me to do about it?

He stared at me blankly for a few seconds, and then mimicked with his left arm and his right hand what was happening with my chicken wings. I was patient, I let him finish before I asked, Are you done? I don't think he was expecting that reaction and everyone in the room got uncomfortably quiet. He tried to rouse up some laughter, hoping that he wasn't alone in the criticism of my wobbly arms but no one else was laughing. I gave him a chance to backpedal but nothing came of it.

"I work out more than everyone in this room. I eat well, I run, I lift weights," I said. "So what's your point? What do you want me to do about my arms? Right in this moment, what do you want me to do?"

He sheepishly said, "I was just pointing it out."

Yes, buy why? You think I didn't know? You think this is the first time I've noticed?

It was as if all the room had been sucked out of the air, everyone was struggling to find breath but finding nothing available. My brother reacted violently, he threw his cards on the table, said "fuck this" and went to his room. I honestly don't know what point he was trying to make or what he expected to happen, but worse, I think it made everyone uncomfortable that I chose to defend myself. I can't tell you what happened in my development that I was instilled/blessed/gifted with this unwavering confidence, but it's nearly heartbreaking to know that people are okay to stand by and watch bullying in all its forms but are uncomfortable when the persecuted fight back. All I know is that right now in this very moment, I am the way I am. Deal with it.

So next time someone is being mean to you, know that their pain is coming from a real place. I've learned in my life not to hate these people but to pity them... because at the end of the day, I am beautiful and no one can change that. No one can change you but you.

really just the same.

Couldn't even have an afternoon of shopping (holla at TJ Maxx!) without my foot get in the way. It's true, I've been pretty active this weekend, but nothing strenuous.

And then, I fell in love with a pair of Steve Madden wedge heels in my size and they fit like a dream. Well, minus that broken foot of mine.

Can't even stand up in a pair of damn heels.

I'm kind of over this shit.