Rinse, and repeat.

I'm finally back, but unfortunately not better than ever. It's been awhile, and a lot has happened. All good things for my happiness, but not good for my waistline.

Our younger brother Michael came to visit on July 10, and Melissa and I were over the moon. Due to us living on opposite ends of the East Coast, we haven't seen much of each other in three years. He flew up on a Wednesday, and we went camping on Thursday until Sunday.

I knew it was going to be tough while camping not to fall prey to s'mores and hot dogs and alcohol and soda. I failed miserably. It was as if I was about to hibernate for Winter and I needed to consume all the food that I could. I had like 18 s'mores over the course of 4 days, and the worst part was when on Friday morning I woke up and ate a s'more without cooking it and with morning dew on it. I was hungry, there was no fire and I let the hunger and lack of survival skills get the best of me.

Over the next three days, I ate and drank to my hearts content. I did try and do some exercises, like taking a walk around the whole campground and swimming in the pool. I tried to not sit as much, and stand more, but I still ate like I would never see food again. I drank alcohol and soda. I basically had no water in my system the whole weekend. I'm surprised I don't have a kidney stone right now. Through it all, I vowed to start anew on Monday.

Monday rolled around, and I tried hard to get back on track, but I had soda and ate lunch out. I neglected water, and greeted sugar and caffeine like a friend I hadn't seen in years rather than a month. The pattern continued all the way through Saturday. My mind when it comes to food is ever rationalizing, and I viewed it as this was my vacation as much as it was his. Which is an excuse that only yields negative results. I stepped on the scale and gained back 4 pounds. So rather than being 14 pounds down, I'm back to 10 pounds. The weight loss was moving slow before this brief gorge on all the food, and now it's all but halted. As disappointed as I am in myself, I find myself more motivated to continue than anything.

It's a lot easier to restart today than I thought it would be. I was convinced that I would be miserable and hungry all day. That my body would reject the idea of life without sugar again. Instead, I find myself full and satisfied after eating. I find myself not just needing water, but wanting it instead. I'm not craving candy, but fruits and vegetables. I still have energy, and the general feeling of heaviness and unwell that creeped back up is starting to ebb a little. I look forward to when it's completely gone, and I'm back to feeling how I was about two weeks ago.

As I sit here with juice from the plum I was just eating all over me, I'm reminded of all the goals I have. Namely the 5k in just a few short months. But I also really want a manicure and pedicure, and to book my dream vacation. In order to do well and keep pace with my friend Gianna and my new friend Eva, I'll have to continue on a healthy lifestyle. If I want to ever see Iceland before I die, I have to lose the weight and become healthy.

I have one of the biggest support systems I've ever seen, and I'm grateful every day for you all. It's hard to be an overweight sister to a skinny brother, but I'm grateful that he doesn't judge me.And I understand that in life there will always be fumbles and people skinnier than I am. I also understand that those aren't excuses and I won't always do what is best for myself. I'll just have to cleanse myself of the negative decisions and repeat the positive ones, but at least I know I have people who will try and guide me back to the right path in a loving way. I hardly think about my future, and I prefer to live in the moment, but for the first time; I'm starting to view my future as a long one. Filled with my friends and family, but most importantly, my health. And I can't wait.

Here's me and my handsome brother, Michael:

Sweet thaaaanggg.

I have the world's biggest sweet tooth. It's a fact, don't bother challenging me on this, because you won't win. I have very childlike taste buds. I am always craving candy, milkshakes and ice cream; and when I go long periods of time without them I turn into a fussy baby.

Which is why when I stopped drinking soda, eating candy and drinking milkshakes, I was miserable for the  first week. I had a headache that eventually went away. I felt weak, and weepy. At 3 am on the first night, I was so ravenous that I seriously debated on whether or not I could sneak out and get a milkshake from McDonald's. I talked myself off a ledge, and just chugged a bottle of water and cried myself to sleep.

The next two days were worse. I felt like I was an extra on The Walking Dead. I walked slow but still found a way to stumble into things. I felt like I was in a bad Stephen King novel (you know the one) because I was stuck in a fog and I couldn't get out. I was snapping at everyone, and taking offense to everything people said to me. I had let myself get so addicted to sugar that three days without it felt like I was lifeless.

After a couple of days my body readjusted. My headache diminished, and my zombie like gait disappeared. I allowed myself 2 teaspoons of sugar and 2 teaspoons of creamer in my coffee each morning, so I could slowly wean myself off of sugar.

When I go into a store, my first thought isn't which candy I will buy, and when I am at a friend's house, I no longer reach for soda. I make sure I carry my water bottle with me wherever I go. After 12 years of insomnia and only sleeping an hour or two at night, I am able to sleep five or more. My body no longer misses sugar.

It was Melissa's birthday yesterday, and last week we had gone out with a few coworkers for dinner and then to her house for dessert. There is where I reunited with my fickle friend. Cake. Icebox cake. The best of all cakes, and I said I would allow myself a piece because after all this was a lifestyle change and I am going to have to learn to live with temptation and not go overboard. I had a piece, and after that, I sat staring longingly at it. Amy offered me another piece, and I couldn't resist. I rationalized that I had been so low on my calorie count all week that I was fine and I could have that second piece. I regretted it, and I vowed to never rationalize like that again. Everyone else could live their lives with one piece, so could I.

That was until yesterday. Our coworker had brought in a cake for Melissa, and she said it was low calorie and low fat. I swore up and down to myself that I would only allow myself one piece. But then I tasted it and I knew I wanted another piece. So the way I rationalized it to myself was that I had the smallest piece out of everyone and it wouldn't kill me to have another small piece. So I did. And then I had another small piece. I didn't even realize what I was doing at the time.

Three pieces of cake. I felt disgusting, and like everyone was staring at the fatty who had three pieces. (When in reality, my other coworkers had three as well.) I swore to myself never again.

And yeah, I might have had two pieces of chocolate pudding whipped cream pie last night for Melissa's birthday. But I didn't go back for more when everyone was asleep, or this morning before I left for work. Which is a big deal for me, because I normally would have.

I feel like a fussy baby today because of all the sugar I had yesterday, and the decreased amount of sugar today. But I have to remind myself that if I wanted to, I could have eaten that whole pie myself and I didn't. I might trip and fall, and eat too much cake, but I'll always get back on track. I love my body now, but I'm going to love my body much more once I'm healthier.

I have consulted my doctor, and all the nurses at my office, and they have all agreed that I am doing this the right way. My doctor let me know about the possible side effects and different ways to combat them. I'm trying to be as healthy as possible, and understand my body much more than I did before. My level of well being is increasing as the weight is decreasing, and I can't wait to see where I go from here.

Battle of the bathing suit.

I have always been confident, and mostly had high self esteem. Sometimes I'm too confident, and it all comes crashing down when I step into a bathing suit.

Naturally when I was younger, I had no problem running around in my bathing suit. I didn't understand why some of my family members or friend's family members covered up at the beach. My theory was that it was hot, I was hot, and the less clothes the better. (I'm pretty sure if I had grown up and stayed at a healthy weight I would have joined a nudist colony by now.) It didn't occur to me the reasons why they felt bad about their bodies. I never realized that they were any different than me. I was taught that people look different and that we shouldn't make them feel bad because they don't look like me. It has been a teaching that has stayed with me my whole life and I will never understand when people stoop to insulting someone else's weight.

For the first couple of months after I had moved to Florida, I still didn't have a problem running around in my bathing suit. It was summer and I was in God's waiting room equipped with its own personal sauna: the equator. As "Fall" arrived and school started, I hadn't made any friends so food became my friend. I felt shameful. I felt that if I were to go to a beach, and walk in my bathing suit that they would mistake me for a beached whale and try to push me off the shore into the water.

I heard the jokes in gym class, and I felt their stares. I didn't talk like them, I didn't grow up with them, and in some of their eyes, I wasn't one of them. Not all of my fellow students were like this, but enough to drown out the rest of them. But then something spectacular happened in the eighth grade, I had started making friends. I grew back into the person I was when I was in Connecticut. I had met my friends Megan and Casey that went from accquantices to my lifelines. I went to the beach with them, and although I was still afraid, I wore my bathing suit. I wore shorts with it, but it was a step in the right direction. They made me feel comfortable and accepted, and for that I'll never be able to thank them enough.

During my high school years, my circle of friends expanded, as did my waist line; but I didn't really care. I felt comfortable and happy and with my friends I knew I didn't have to feel ashamed. I found my niche in high school theatre and I had never felt more at home. While in acting, I had met a girl named Shaena. We immediately hit it off, and became close. Through her, and acting, I had met Danielle. We went to the beach together one day, and because of them, I had the courage to take my shorts off and just be in my bathing suit. It took that to finally learn to love myself completely and understand that everyone has flaws.

I still struggle with wearing a bathing suit. I still don't like the way my stomach looks in it, or my thighs, but thankfully I have Melissa, Marta and all my friends to reassure me of the parts that do look good in my bathing suit. They remind me that no one will mistake me for a whale, and try and push me home. I have Marta or Melissa or Pulito or Jason or Sarah or any of them to keep me sane when I'm having a mini-anxiety attack about the bathing suit. Without all of my friends, I would just be the girl on the beach wearing a pant suit.

One day, the battle of the bathing suit will come to an end, and I'll be able to wave my white flag in surrender. I'll be able to put it on without a second thought or a fight. Maybe one day I'll feel like the little girl again. No shame, just happy to be in the water. Until I do, I won't stop fighting.

Feel the burn.

Part of my job is going to a Agency and dropping off my bills to the ninth floor. I ride the beautifully mirrored elevator up, avoiding eye contact with the stranger in the reflection. I'm still wary of looking at myself in mirrors because I hardly recognize myself despite how long I've lived at this weight. I still view myself at the spirited young girl with barely any weight on her, and able to run without becoming tired.

After sitting in traffic for a half an hour, when normally it would take me 10 minutes, I arrived at the Agency with my bills. I entered the elevator, and pressed the nine button. I made it between the fourth floor and the fifth floor before the buzz of the fire alarm came screeching alerting me that this was not a test and that I would be dropped at the next floor and made to leave the building immediately. Thankfully it did stop at the fifth floor, and I joined the queue waiting to exit the building.

Outside there was a fire truck blocking my car so I couldn't even leave and come back. I hid myself under a shady tree, until I was told to move to the other side of the street. As I baked in the sun like a potato, finally they came down and gave us the all clear that we would be allowed to enter the building but the elevator was broken.

I went through the seven stages of grief again. Only this time, I felt better because I wasn't alone in my journey. There were plenty of other people to share in my pain. Plenty of other people to sweat like we're in a bad Richard Simmons work out tape with me. Then the overwhelming feeling of claustrophobia set in. Plenty of people. Too many people. I tend to be cripplingly claustrophobic, added with a healthy dose of hypochondria, and paranoia of all the ways that this could go wrong.

I started my voyage to the ninth floor behind the tiniest woman in the world. By the third floor I was ready to drop. I was hot, I was sweaty, and my thighs were burning. I pressed on for as long as I could, and by the seventh floor I was waving people on past me. I was dry heaving because of the exercise, the stench of body odor mixed with the suffocating heat. A few people laughed, and none stopped to make sure I was okay. Which I was glad about because I was on the verge of tears, and the last I wanted was to be coddled.

I finally made it to the ninth floor and I was pretty sure that this was the end. That I had walked my way to Heaven, and I'd soon be at the pearly gates. I half expected to see all the animals and people I've ever loved welcoming me home. All I saw the was the heavy breathing receptionist greeting me with the same tiny nod I gave her. I handed over my bills and headed on my way. Going down is always easier than going up.

I made it back to my office where the elevator is still broken. I waddled my way up to the third floor and honestly felt like I was never going to walk again. I collapsed on my chair and vowed to myself that I would lose all this weight and I would one day conquer those stairs.

My thighs are on fire, and I have a headache from my slow crawl up 12 flights in total, but I feel energized. Tonight I am going to a cookout at a friend's house, and then walking to the beach to watch fireworks. It's about 3 miles, and I'm a slow moving vessel but I will make it just fine. It's a lot easier to do this things now that I'm 13.5lbs down, and not hindered by grease and sugar coursing through my body.

I'm thinking of making myself shirt that says "I felt the burn and I survived". It's tiny workouts like this that make me feel better and happier that I am working towards a healthier lifestyle.

The body of Beyonce, with the mind of Eleanor Roosevelt.

Or as my friend Jason suggested, I should have a body like Eleanor Roosevelt with the mind of Beyonce. I will accept anything, as long I have something similar with the Queen B. 

I've never actually had a "thinspiration" or a body that I wanted to model my own after. I just figured that as long as I felt good, and still had curves, all would be right with the world.

To help me achieve my goals of doing well in the 5k, and looking like Beyonce, I wanted to start working out. After a delicious dinner of roasted peppers stuffed with cherry tomatoes, grill portabella mushrooms, garlic and feta (thank you Melissa!), I was going to go for a walk. I really was, but then it started to look like it was going to start raining and my friend Sarah was supposed to come over. So I said I would start tomorrow, and really felt like I would. 

After Sarah left, I had gone into my room and I felt disappointed in myself that I couldn't even take 15 minutes to walk to better myself and get readjusted back into working out. I felt defeated, and as if I had just ruined my whole week of hard work. Which is ridiculous, but it still spurred me into action. Earlier in the day, I had printed off a little calendar to help me. It's called Couch to 5K, and I was so excited to try it. The first day you start off with something like a 3 minute walk, 2 minute jog, 3 minute walk. It sounds ridiculously easy, even for me, and I was looking forward to trying it.

When I am feeling lazy, I am comparable to a sloth. And more often than not, I am feeling lazy. It didn't rain last night, I could have gotten started on the couch to 5k. The tag line of my book should read, "I'll do it tomorrow".

Last night, instead of feeling upset and defeated, I walked and jogged in my room. Possibly not as effective, but I still felt somewhat accomplished. I just kept walking back and forth across my floor, and then I jogged in place. I stretched, I did the little arm circles that you used to do in gym class. I attempted to do a lunge and almost got stuck in it, so I moved on to squats where I successfully did 25 squats. Sit ups and push ups are my arch nemesis, but I attempted to do them as well. After failing around on the ground like a dying fish, I decided I had accomplished enough and that I should probably go to bed. 

Even though I worked out in my small room, and didn't really do much, I felt much better about myself. With hard work and dedication, and small changes daily, it won't be long until I have a body like Beyonce, and I can start calling my house the Bey-hive.

Run Forest, Run.

I've decided that in December, I'm going back down to Florida to do the Dirty Girl Mud Run! My friend Gianna thought of me, and invited me to join her team, which I gladly accepted.

I am not coordinated. I am constantly tripping, falling and hurting myself in some way, I am not very good when it comes to physical exertion(see Stairway to Heaven), and the last time I did a 5k, I came in dead last. Behind an old woman, and a woman with a stroller.A security guard at one point was driving next to me to make sure I didn't pass out. I waved him on, but he told me he wouldn't leave my side. We really connected. I was breathing heavy; he was pretending not to notice. While I was busy planning out our wedding and the names of our children, he drove away. I figured he just had driven away to go pick up my engagement ring, and he'd be right back. Again, I'm pretty sure I was delirious from heat exhaustion and physical exertion.

I will never forget that day. I went to the 5k with one of my best friends, Danielle, her sister Alicia, and her mom Laurie as a spectator, about a week before I moved back to Connecticut. We got there, and signed in and started off the race together. We had all agreed that if one of us felt like we couldn't keep pace, we wouldn't be mad that the other had kept going. Danielle, Alicia and I had started off at the same pace and we were keeping it together.

Although my legs are the strongest part of my body, and one of the only parts of my body with little to no fat, I have no endurance in them. My shins ache, my thighs scream, and my knees sound like an old tree swaying in the wind because they're so creaky. 

Eventually, I told Danielle to go ahead because I needed to walk. I'm pretty sure I only jogged for 2 minutes, but I felt as if I was Forest Gump running across America. It was 10,000% humidity, and I was sweating like a sinner in church. I slowed to a walk, and watched all the runners and walkers pass me. I tried jogging again, to no avail. My back was on fire, and I was barely moving. I made it through the first mile, and I considered quitting. I could feel the shame rising and I decided it was a better idea not to. I continued on, and after a lot of people passing me, my security guard husband, and so much tripping that I almost face planted, I finished. 

Danielle, Alicia, and Laurie were waiting for me, and they congratulated me and told me how proud they were that I finished. I felt proud that I didn't give up on myself, and I had continued. I was just happy that my friend was waiting for me at the end, and I wasn't alone. I had a support system.

When I started this lifestyle change, I didn't have goals like this 5k. I just knew that I wanted to get fit, and feel better about myself. I know that I am beautiful at any weight, but I'm not healthy at this weight. I'm so glad that Gianna thought of me, and inspired me to kick it up a notch. I know that I'm probably going to be falling all over the place, but I'll have the support of every different size and beauty female around me, and I'm excited to even have the opportunity to do something like this.

I've researched online getting fit for an obstacle course, and I have a ways to go, but I'm motivated and I won't give up. I have 191 days to get ready, and I've decided that I will start just cardio training for the first 10 weeks with some weight lifting and then prepare myself for the obstacles. It won't be easy, but then again, all things worth it never are.

For those interested, the website is: www.godirtygirl.com

The most embarrassing day of my life.

I decided when I started this blog that I would be as open and as honest as I possibly could about my weight struggles, and my feelings before and during my weight loss journey. There have been many people that I have encountered that have no problem reminding me of my weight, regardless of whether or not they know. My own grandmother has told me that the dress I was wearing made me look like I had sausage casing on my rolls. I had two people within 20 minutes of each other either call me the fat chick, or a fat cunt. Just because I brushed it off, does not mean I have forgotten.

The one thing however, I cannot brush off is the day that I went to Six Flags and the pure self loathing I felt. I  had been so excited on the ride to the park. We were listening to 90s music, and I felt like a little kid. Giddy because I was going to a park, nervous because I hate roller coasters, but mostly I felt truly happy because I would be spending the day with my best friends. 

The first ride we went on was a little kid's ride. The one with the ship where it goes back and forth. I chose that ride because I am a fussy baby and I can't handle roller coasters. It was basically all (hot) dads and tiny children. I felt comfortable knowing that I wasn't going to plummet to my death.

We decided to venture out to try more roller coasters, and while my heart was beating like a drum line, I agreed to try it out. We waited in line, and finally after what felt like a lifetime, we reached the front. I tried getting into the ride, and closing myself in with immediate panic setting in. I was shaking like a leaf in the wind, and trying to hold back the hot tears that I could feel springing up in my eyes. Before the ride attendant could even reach me, I jumped out of the bucket and told my friends I would see them after the ride. I stood in the corner, and held back the sobs that were quickly rising in my chest. I would not let any one in the park see me cry. I would make them think that I had chosen to get off due to my fear, and not my weight. 

That was not the only ride I had tried to go on. After the second attempt at a roller coaster with the same results, as a group we decided to ride a water ride. It was hot, I was miserable, and I wanted some validation that I wasn't the most disgusting person in Six Flags.

We chose a ride with 6 seats in it, and a family of 3 joined us in the ride. Everyone had buckled, and my sausage fingers were still fumbling with the buckle when the ride attendant came over to check. I sat on my buckle to make it look like it had been fastened because I refused to be turned away again. The mother and son had spotted my predicament and could see how red my face was, and kept quiet. (I don't think they knew how much I appreciated that, and how I still fondly think of them.) We took off, and the whole time I kept thinking about falling out and being dragged under and what the headlines would read. I couldn't even enjoy myself because I was too terrified of dying. 

Finally the scariest ride of my life was over, and I was back on solid land; feeling no less defeated than I had before I went on the water ride. To the everlasting credit of my friends, they knew that I was ready to go and none of them put up a fight. They quietly suggested it, shut down any talk of how I was ruining their fun, and we made our way back to the parking lot. I don't know if I ever thanked them, or if they ever knew how much my heart swelled with love for them. But it did. And I thank them now.

This was the most embarrassing day of my life. The only people that know this story are the people that were there with me. To this day, they still maintain that I was able to ride each ride with them, and only talk about the good times we shared. I'll never forget their kindness, and their acceptance without judgement.

But the worst part of all this was not the fact that I couldn't ride anything at Six Flags, but it was the fact that even after this day I did not stop myself in my tracks and change. I allowed myself to put on more weight, and make more excuses as to the reason why I was eating. 

I do not tell this story to garner pity or remorse for me. I tell this story to hold me accountable, and to remember what I felt that day. And to remember that I never want to go back to that. I tell this story because it is a big part of me, whether or not I like it. The only thing I can do from here is press on, and realize that I am currently on the ride of my life and that there's no getting off.