DAY 15

I've never really held much stock in the phrase, "There's no place like home." Unlike Dorothy, my friends and family left the small town where we grew up almost as soon as they could. With my sisters in LA and Chicago respectively, and my best friends spread across the nation, I'd never really seen the point in coming back to Connecticut. Though my mom remained, it wasn't like she still lived in my childhood home (neither the first, nor the second), and I'd much rather spend time with her in LA where we had better weather and much more to do.

But after my mom visited LA in March, she begged me to come home. Really, truly begged.
"It'll be like a spa vacation," she said. "You can relax and go to they gym and work on your writing!" Since I was on hiatus, waiting to hear if the show I worked on was going to return for another season (it did, btw--yay Faking It Season 3!), I figured...why not? I knew she was anxious to keep an eye on me; I'd never seen her as worried about me as when she was leaving LA this time (and that's saying something because I'm ashamed to admit I've put that woman through a LOT to be worried about). And as the weeks passed, I realized I couldn't remember the last time I'd spent any time alone with her. Because of my crazy television work schedule, all our time together had been as a family, and I lacked any one on one time with her. I was excited. And I was not let down.

My mother is not a cook (she was quoted saying she prefers cleaning dishes to cooking tonight), but using the meal plan V and I had come up with a few days before, my first day home turned into a magical delicious feast.

Breakfast (top left): 1/2 cup of steel cut oats cooked in 1 cup of skim milk. 1/2 of a chopped granny smith apple, and 1/8 cup of walnut halves.

Lunch (bottom left): 4 oz. chicken breast, 2 tbs. 0% greek yogurt, a dollop of fresh pico de gallo, on top of 1 cup chopped romaine.

Dinner: 6 oz. filet mignon, with mixed veggies (1 cup of sliced mushrooms, 1/4 cup of red bell peppers, 1/2 cup of green beans) cooked in 1 tbs of olive oil and 2 tbs soy sauce, on top of 1/2 cup brown rice.

I was seriously astounded at how delicious my meals were. Not only that, but since they'd been planned before time, they required about zero thought. And my total intake was only 1390 calories, even before my exercise. The spa vacation sentiment was pretty true. Plus, it felt amazing to be taken care of by my mom. That sounds pretty silly coming from a 27 year old adult, but there's something so intensely gratifying about it. My mom is the first to support my goals and my journey, and a large part of this has been influenced by her, but being with her was suddenly incredibly low pressure. I felt like we could just enjoy being together.

This morning we accomplished my first and most important mission. New sneakers. My brother in law promised I'd tell my mom I needed new sneakers after the bloody foot incident of this past Sunday, so that's where our day began. And it was quite an experience. For the past three days, I've done extensive research on which gym shoes are best for overweight women. Which shoes have the most shock absorption to decrease pressure on joints. Which shoes have the most stability. Which shoes come in fun colors (I'm sorry, but that's important to me!). The most valuable piece of information I learned in my research was to go to a running store and have someone evaluate my gait. It sounded silly to me, but I figured why not? So, I went to the closest running store and took my chances. Let me just say, if anyone ever needs any new sneakers, I cannot recommend this experience more. Not only did the salespeople know everything there is to know about different sneakers, but she first had me stand on a computer scale, which projected an image onto a screen to show me where most of my weight was distributed (my heels), the length and width of both my feet (9M forever despite my weight gain), and if I needed extra arch support (nope, my arches are high as hell). Because of my weight, she picked a few sneaker options that were high in stability and cushioned soles, and I went to town. After finding a pair that felt like I was floating on a cloud or walking on a pillow, she put me on a treadmill to run for 15 seconds. My feet were filmed, and when I got off, she played the video back in slow motion, just to check and make sure my alignment in the sneakers were good (toe lining up with ankle, heel, and knee). They did! And this was the glorious result.

Anxious to try them out, I convinced my mom to do the 3 mile loop around Tod's Point Beach with me. I put on my heart rate monitor, my new shoes, and grabbed my water bottle, ready to enjoy some quiet time with my mom. The view wasn't too shabby either. Plus, I managed to burn 500 calories.

 On our way home, I asked my mom to show me where her gym was. She knew she was going to have to go into work tomorrow, so I wanted to be prepared for my workout without her there to push me. Turns out I probably won't need a push. As soon as we stopped in the gym, I was taken aback by my urge to really break a sweat. My three mile walk had felt more like a warm up than true exercise, and I decided to do a quick weight training session while my mom went upstairs to start on dinner. I grabbed a pair of 15 lb weights and went to town. 4x12 sets of squats to shoulder press, straight leg deadlifts, lateral raises, lateral dips, lateral pull downs, bicep curls--and finishing things off with 100 crunches holding the 10 lb plate above my head. My quick session raised my total calories burned to nearly 1k calories. Far more than I'd originally anticipated.

And though I'm sitting in bed now, soreness starting to creep into my muscles, I feel incredibly accomplished. At no point did I feel like I was being forced into eating something healthy or working out. After two weeks, it's simply part of my routine--something I HAVE to do, just as important as sleeping or showering or watching all my shows!

Something I haven't done yet, however, is weigh myself. It's something I'm still a little scared to do. What if the numbers haven't changed at all? What if they've changed too little? What if I've gained weight (I know that's implausible but my brain works in crazy ways). One of my promises to myself is that I will weigh myself this week. By Sunday, I will have a weigh day, and that will be my new weekly weigh day for this journey. I decided that with each 10 lbs I lose, I'm going to treat myself with something (non-food related, of course). For my final goal, I want to take a weekend trip away somewhere. Santa Barbara or Palm Springs or Vegas? But with my current bank account's state, I need the treats leading up to that final prize to be somewhat economical. If anyone has any suggestions, I need 9 more treats/presents to myself to fill in! Because, as always, I'm going to keep doing this.

DAYS 11-14: CHICAGO

Four days in Chicago, and my entire life feels as if it's changed. When I stepped on the plane on Thursday, I had no idea how altered I'd be leaving. And it's all because of this little nugget, my nephew, Charlie. 

Upon arriving, I was a motivated person, ready to begin an arduous journey with it's ups and downs and frustrations and successes. But as soon as I met Lil C, I knew I needed to push myself harder. For the next three days, I made a schedule for success, changing bad habits and organizing my thoughts into something more of a cohesive plan. Because after spending four days with a 2 month old, and having my heart expand more than I ever thought it possibly could, I needed to ensure that I'd be able to chase after him in the coming months, play with him on the playground in the coming years, and watch him grow into an amazing man in the coming decades. I made a promise to myself that NOTHING would prevent that. Especially not myself.

So, I gave my big sister, V, free range. As a Type A, health obsessed doctor, V had already made the strides she felt were most important, and I asked her to be my Obi Wan and help me educate the healthy girl inside me. The first thing on her list to tackle - meal planning. V had seen my post about my bad cheat day and had also been upset by it. She knew that cravings were bound to happen (even at her healthiest, she's still obsessed with gummy bears and jelly beans more than any other person I know). But she wanted to let me know that I could plan for cravings, if only I were able to get into a routine where I knew what I'd eat for every meal.

For our first outing, she took me grocery shopping - something I'd actually done with my personal trainer all those moons ago - and showed me her basic list, along with her specific list for this week's meal plan. She explained that the easiest way she's maintained her health, time, and budget, is through repetition. She asked if I minded eating the same meal a few times a week (I didn't). So, we came up with two breakfast options and a lunch that could be portioned out for my whole stay. Breakfast alternated between scrambled egg whites with 1 link of chicken sausage, 1/4 avocado, and a spoonful of fresh salsa (V-ism #1: Just because you're eating well doesn't mean you have to sacrifice flavor) and steel cut oats cooked in nonfat milk with a handful of frozen berries on top. Lunch for the weekend was chicken breast, quinoa cooked in chicken broth, and a sprinkle of feta cheese over mixed greens (V-ism #2: The most important thing I learned in medical school was to eat more vegetables).

After food prep came the interview stage. V wanted to know everything. Which restaurants did I frequent? Where did my job order lunch from regularly? What foods was I currently cooking for myself? What were the foods I regularly craved? We broke everything down thoroughly, coming up with healthy substitutes for the foods I was already eating. I couldn't believe how easily she "fixed" things. Make sure in the beginning I'm tracking everything I eat so I can really learn how much to consume in a day (if anyone uses MyFitnessPal, you can follow my intake at charincharge!), sub in quinoa for pasta or rice, goat cheese and feta has a strong enough flavor to just use a sprinkle on top, if I really want a drink--buy an expensive/good bottle of wine and portion it out to last a week, etc etc etc. The substitutions continued. We came up with a four week meal plan, weekly shopping lists, suggestions for snacks and possible healthy "treats" like the nicecream (blended frozen bananas with 1 tbs chocolate chips on top) so I wouldn't feel like I was depriving myself. Although I felt slightly overwhelmed, I was grateful to have someone organize my thoughts for me. 

The most obvious but amazing trick, however, came about on night one. We were going to meet her friends out for dinner, and I immediately panicked. Going out was NOT part of the extensive food breakdown we'd done before. But V opened the menu and told me to pick three potential options for dinner that night. She said the most effective way to curb bad decisions is to plan, and she's not wrong. By picking a few healthy options before hand, I didn't feel cornered into making a decision right then and there, but I knew I wouldn't go "off book" and make a poor choice at the restaurant. Brilliant, right? As we were out, though, her husband and friends ordered some dips to start with - a hummus with potato chips and some sort of cheesy spinach dip with tortilla chips. I lamented internally. I knew I'd have to watch them eat this delicious food, and I'd be sipping on water miserably. But, I was shocked to discover that V had asked if they had any veggies to dip into the dips, as opposed to chips, and I was presented with a plate of raw broccoli (which was amazingly delicious with the hummus!). I looked at her, confused, and she said simply, "Most people want to see you succeed. If you ask for a healthy substitute, they're going to help you out." And it's true. Though I have always laughed at the high maintenance girls who ask for 100 substitutions and changes to a menu item, I became her. And to my surprise, no one showed any annoyance to my requests. No scoffing or eye rolling to asking for grilled chicken instead of breaded, or dressing on the side, or extra salad instead of toast. V was right - people did want me to succeed. And because of that, I was shocked at how damn EASY it was. 

Meals suddenly became way less important, less of a stress on my mind, and it allowed me to spend the weekend focusing on what I really wanted to--my family! I spent tons of time singing with Charlie, reading him stories, and making him smile. I spent more time with my sister than I ever have since she graduated high school in 2002! We watched movies, went shopping, cooked, and went on long walks around the city (at least 10k steps a day!). And, I even got to spend some quality time with her husband, who is in the process of doing HIIT (high intensity interval training) running. We went down to their apartment gym and worked out together. I was so motivated and feeling so damn happy that after my 45 minute walk on the treadmill (switching between 3.5 mph at incline 10, and 4mph at incline 1), I did a quick 20 minute full body kettlebell workout (3x12 squats, deadlifts, side lunges, and lateral dips). In fact, I was so elated that I didn't even notice the giant exploded blister on my heel until halfway through our sushi feast (this was for all three of the adults).

Though that forced me to take the next day off from working out (I attempted a walk with V, and when I came back to the apartment, her husband gagged at the sight of my very bloody sock...oops?), I still feel amazing. Refreshed and with a new perspective, I feel ready to take on the next leg of my journey. NYC for the next two weeks with my momma. As always, let's keep doing this!

DAY 10

Health and travel are not usually synonymous. Especially not for me. For a few reasons, actually. First, I get frustrated with my packing and inevitably the sneakers and workout gear is the first to get left behind. Then there’s the travel itself. Airports and airplanes filled with junk food, fast food, and disgusting food. And then, when you arrive at your destination you’re tempted with new exciting restaurants, and the last thing in the world you want to do is make time to exercise! 

But today begins my three week trip to visit my family (first stop Chicago to visit my big sister and my new nephew, then off to CT to spend two weeks with my momma!), and I wanted to make sure that my travels weren’t going to compromise my fitness and health goals! Flying before has always been treacherous on my health. Mostly because I’m afraid to eat the bad food around me, but after hours of starving myself, I inevitably give in to something unhealthy on the plane or in the airport. But not today! In order to prepare for my trip, I loaded myself up with healthy foods for the plane - an apple, some almonds, and a prepared Trader Joe’s salad. Though I had anticipated getting up early to eat breakfast, I only had time for my cup of coffee before heading to the airport. I figured I would just eat my salad early, and it wouldn’t be a problem, but then I did some calculations - and if I ate my lunch as I got on the plane, it would be another seven or eight hours before my next meal was prepared for me! So, I did a search for the healthiest option available. Luckily, there was a newly installed Marmalade Cafe in the United Terminal (thanks for being so fancy, LAX!), and I was able to get an egg white scramble with mushrooms, spinach, and a slice of swiss cheese on top. I was surprised, though, when the plate came out with not just the scramble. There was a side of potatoes, and toast and butter. UGH. My greatest nemesis. White carbs. I’m not going to lie, I had about three pieces of potato after my scramble. But I knew that I’d regret going down that path if I had anymore, and I had already filled up on much better foods. So, the processed carbs got trashed. It was a small victory, but I documented it anyway!

Just before boarding my sister let me know that when I arrived in Chicago there would be a healthy dinner waiting for me at her apartment. So I just want to take a minute to express my thanks to my family. Yes, my friends have been extremely encouraging and helpful, but my family has been on another level. Their love and support has helped me from breaking down, and I look forward to being able to visit them without feeling awkward about asking to go to the gym or for healthy food substitutes. My mom told me to think of my trip to her as a spa vacation. Rest, relaxation, and focus on my health. And my sister has told me we’re going to walk the baby all around Chicago (3 mile walks every day!) as well as using her apartment gym. I come up from a family of disordered eating. As I mentioned before, my father reached just over 400 lbs at his highest weight, from an uncontrollable addiction to food and alcohol. My mother once told me she was anorexic for a time in her youth, and at 5’8” was only 120 lbs on her wedding day. My sisters have both experienced stress related anorexia, coping with being out of control by over-controlling with their daily intake. And obviously, I have swung between binging and starving. My sisters have received the help they needed and become extremely healthy individuals, and now it’s my turn. Though they’ve wanted to help me for many many years, I had to come to a point where I wanted to do it myself. And I’m incredibly grateful to them for not losing hope that I one day would come to that conclusion. 

An incredible support system is one of the most important parts of this journey, and I’m so glad I have one. So, bring it on Chicago! Let's do this. 

DAY 9

Yesterday I had a conversation with a reader of my blog that upset me greatly. I contemplated not writing about it, not wanting to single them out or make them feel uncomfortable, but I decided that it made ME so uncomfortable that I had to talk about it. It went a little something like this.

Reader: Your last blog post really upset me. I can’t even begin to tell you how much it upset me.

Me: I’m sorry (thinking my binging/purging discussion and clearly disordered eating might be triggering). Maybe you shouldn’t read it anymore?

Reader: I just think you need to be tougher on yourself. The way you told yourself to be nicer and to stop listening to that voice…I think you need to be tougher.

Me: (internally: What?) Uhh…I don’t think I should be listening to that voice. It’s incredibly mean. And it makes me want to hurt myself in an unhealthy way.

Reader: There’s a fine line between being mean and being tough. 

Me: Okay, well…I’m heading to a new hike now, so…

Reader: You should be careful about doing so much strenuous exercise too. Doesn’t it make you hungrier?

Me: Yes. 

Reader: There’s no need to work out that much.

Me: I just don’t think working out four times a week for an hour is that strenuous. It’s pretty average. 

Reader: Okay.

Me: Okay.

Here’s the thing, though. Thinking back on this, I KNOW that this person did not mean to upset me. They meant to be encouraging of my journey and were upset about my very bad day. They were worried. They’re seeing everything from my eyes from the first time, and that can be disturbing. I know; I’m living it. But just as they said there’s a fine line between being mean and being tough…there’s also a fine line between being encouraging and shaming. And I left this conversation feeling humiliated and shamed. Should I stop writing everything that wasn’t the perfect picture of health? Should I be ashamed of my mistakes on my journey? It seemed like they thought I should. 

Luckily, I was meeting a friend for a new (more difficult) hike in Malibu - Temescal Canyon, so I was able to put all my frustration towards my workout. With each ascending step, I pushed through, wanting to be “tougher” on myself. But I couldn’t help but keep coming back to that conversation. I knew I had had a bad day, but how was I not being tough on myself? Just because I’d told my abusive inner voice to shut the fuck up, didn’t mean I wasn’t tough on myself. In fact, it meant the opposite. In a week of seven days, I had worked out the four times I’d promised I would. I had made healthy food choices, swapping my carb heavy meals for ones focused on lean proteins and veggies. I’d made a decision to have at least one cup of vegetables with lunch and dinner and stuck to it. Prior to this renewed effort in health, I would have seen that day as a failure and kept failing. Fail once, may as well give into that voice that tells me I’m just meant to be fat and ugly and keep on my destructive ways. But I didn’t. I went to bed and woke up the next day, and started again. I ate my veggies and chicken, I went for a long walk around the block, and I made a plan to try an even more difficult hike in Malibu with one of my friends. I didn’t give up.

Two miles and an hour and a half of sweating later, we made it to the top of Temescal Ridge (check out this view). 

The endorphins rushed through me as I took in the wide seascape in front of me. We had climbed incredibly high (I should look up the altitude just to see exactly how high, but I haven’t yet). I could see from the middle of the Pacific Ocean all the way to downtown and back. I should have been proud of myself, but I wasn’t. I should have smiled, but I didn’t. Instead, after snapping a few foggy pictures, I headed back down to the car. Even the amazingly large number of calories burner on my heart rate monitor didn’t make me feel better (though today I feel WAY better about it — look how impressive I am, hah!. 

All my doubts rushed back into my head as I drove home. Did my reader think I was a complete failure too? I struggled with that thought, letting it swish around my brain as I made my post-hike brunch (3 egg whites, 3 links of jalapeño chicken sausage, and 2 cups of chopped spinach). It was large and satisfying, but as I continued with my day, I felt it sit there in my stomach. Was my exercise making me eat too much? Was there something wrong with being hungry? My disordered brain went into overdrive, and the mean voice returned in full force. FAILURE, it shouted. WHY DID YOU JUST EAT ALL THAT? it lamented (despite the fact that I’d burned my entire daily intake’s worth of calories merely hours before and wasn’t even close to reaching it). NO MORE FOOD TODAY FOR YOU, FATTY. EATING IS BAD. 

After my shower I crawled into bed under the guise of packing for my trip the next day and cuddled with my puppy. I spiraled and spaced out, not even bothering to turn on the TV. My boyfriend immediately knew something was wrong. But instead of calling me out on it and making me clam up even more (I can’t even count the amount of times he’s heard “I’m fine” when I’m clearly not fine), he gave me a kiss and said, “We’re doing something fun tonight. It’s your last night here for almost three weeks, and I want to have fun with my girlfriend. What do you want to do?” I said I didn’t know about five times before he suggested a local happy hour. I told him I didn’t want to eat gross bar food. It was too unhealthy. We were broke anyway. We could just hang out at home. But he insisted. We wouldn’t have to eat if I didn’t want to. He had salmon filets defrosting for when we got back. He just wanted a beer or two and to spend some time with me. I knew his ulterior motive - he was worried and wanted to get me out of bed, so I appeased him. And I’m glad I did. 

Getting out with him enabled me to take a step back and look at the conversation objectively. Eating is not bad. In fact, I need to eat in order to live. It’s fuel that enables my body to function properly. Last time I lost a significant amount of weight (right after college graduation), I stopped eating. My weekly grocery list consisted of box of ricearoni and two bags of mushrooms. I consumed only 500 calories a day (the recommended intake for a sedentary female is 1800). When I was hungry — which stopped happening after a while, I’d drink a big cup of tea. The weight fell off me. I received praise for my new body and was applauded for my hard work (I told people I was eating better). Little did they know my hair was breaking off, I couldn’t sleep for more than three hours at a time, and I began lying to everyone. No one questioned me because they were just so PROUD of me for looking good. Sadly, this has become my default setting. But I am trying to learn otherwise.

At happy hour I had a beer and we split a plate of chicken tacos - a corn tortilla with grilled chicken topped with pickled onions, cabbage, avocado, and hot sauce (thank you LA for having a Mexican restaurant with healthy options). He told me I looked beautiful and he was going to miss me, and I finally came out of my spiral. The thing is, I know I’m going to continue worrying people. They’re not going to agree with my choices, and my journey isn’t going to be a smooth journey. But I’m not going to hide what’s happening. This complete transparency thing has been the most freeing aspect of my journey so far. In the health and fitness community there’s a motivational phrase - fall down seven times, get back up eight. And that’s what I’m going to do. I can’t take back my failures, and despite my best efforts, there will be more. But I refuse to be ashamed of them. Because I’m strong, and I will get back up again. Shame is not welcome here. 

As always, thank you to those who have been supportive and engaged in conversations with me. Despite this epic ranty-mcrant, I really do appreciate it. Your worry and compassion shows me a love and community I didn’t know I had. So, let’s keep doing this. 

DAYS 7 & 8

This entry is brought you by the letters P. M. and S.

I once read an article that said most diets that start on a Monday are broken by the end of the week, and for some reason that's always stuck with me. I think the actual message of the article was that people who view their food intake as a "diet" are the ones who give up and fail, but I have always taken it literally (if you were wondering why I started my journey last Tuesday, that's why).

Yesterday, I was thoroughly enjoying my day off from working out (and heading over to one of my best friend's apartments to spend some time writing), when a sharp pain stabbed into my lower stomach. It subsided quickly and then struck again a few minutes later. Fuck, I thought. Was it time for my period already (or as I've started calling it thanks to a clever co-worker, my moon time)? In all my excitement about starting this new healthy life, I failed to remember that my period was on its way, which is kind of insane because as my close friends and family know, my period turns me into a sad baby overwhelmed by the crippling pain of stomach cramps and lower back pain. These symptoms have only gotten worse with my weight gain. According to my extensive internet research (trying to figure out at home remedies for cramping), I learned that my extra fat actually has an estrogenic effect on my glands. This excess estrogen creates a myriad of problems including emotional upheaval, irritability, sadness, and last but definitely not least...debilitating cramps. Sounds like fun, right?

So, as I circled looking for a spot, getting more and more annoyed, I turned the wheel in the opposite direction and made a bit of a detour to a corner market where I grabbed a bottle of wine and looked for something chocolate. I knew it wasn't the best decision, but I felt like I NEEDED it. How would I be productive if I was miserable, I reasoned with myself. The options were limited, so I grabbed a bag of Milanos and a bottle of red wine and continued on my way.

Upon arriving, I inhaled the bag of cookies. Only sparing two for my friend, because I knew otherwise I would eat the whole thing. 14 cookies and two glasses of wine later, I was still unsatisfied. The wine had relaxed my muscles enough that the cramps no longer felt like a demon baby was trying to claw its way out of my uterus, but the cookies had only satiated my emotional hunger, not my desire for real food. I input the cookies into my nutrition tracker and gasped. I had consumed almost a thousand calories worth of empty food, making me almost 500 calories over my approximate limit for the day. And I hadn't even had dinner yet! I felt guilty. How could I have done that to myself? I continued sipping on my wine, hoping I'd be able to do without dinner, but as the evening continued and the hours passed, I knew I needed dinner.  Luckily, I remembered I'd left some Trader Joe's ravioli in my friend's freezer a few weeks ago! Not the best choice, but better than ordering takeout. Unfortunately, she'd eaten the ravioli, and I finally gave in. I needed to order food. The only restaurant open was a Thai place down the block, so I ordered my favorite curry and a side of rice. I ate all the rice with half the container of curry in record time (yet again), and immediately regretted it. I felt completely bloated, filled way too far, and immediately the guilty and berating thoughts appeared. "You're such an idiot," I thought. "This is why you're so fat. You'll never succeed at this rate. You're such a disappointment."

I couldn't sit there anymore stewing in my shame and discomfort (plus, by this time it was about 1 am), so I took off. As I was outside and walking to my car, a gross thought entered my head - "You could make yourself puke," I thought. "No one's around. No one would ever know. You don't have to feel this full." I'm not going to lie, this wasn't the first time those thoughts had appeared. And I'm loathe to admit that I've done it a handful of times, just wanting to forget about the food I'd gorged on earlier. But I stopped myself this time. Yes, I had eaten too much. Yes, I didn't feel well. Yes, I'd made bad decisions. But making myself throw up was not going to help, and it most definitely wasn't the way to a happier and healthier life. I had to acknowledge that and accept that. Berating myself wasn't going to change the fact that I'd eaten too much. And it certainly wasn't going to make me feel better. In fact, if anyone actually talked to me the way I talk to myself, I would have cut them out of my life a LONG time ago.

So today, as I wallowed with my heating pad in day two of my heinous cramps, I realized the first thing I really need to do this week. I need to say goodbye to that terrible voice in my head that tells me I'm worthless. That voice sucks. She's mean and a bully. She's toxic, like that terrible girl from high school you always wanted to impress but knew she'd never give you the time of day. I think by working on getting rid of her, it will free my head to think in a more positive direction without fear of being reprimanded for failing. Because the truth is, I'm going to fail. There are going to be shitty days, days where I can't get out of bed, days where I will fall down and miss the mark. But that's okay. In a week of successful eating and working out, one bad day (even if it's really really bad) isn't the end of the world. And it certainly doesn't warrant me treating myself poorly. I need to stand up to that voice and tell her to fuck off. So, that's what I'm going to do. Today is a new day, and I've lived through it successfully.

On a separate note, does anyone have any suggestions for making it through your period cravings in a healthy way? Are there any tricks of the trade? Next month I want to be as prepared as I can be. Because, as always, I'm going to keep doing this.

DAY 6: Food Log

DAY 6

There are many days where I wonder if being in LA contributes to my skewed body image. Today was one of those days. 

After being a productive adult (four loads of laundry, dishes, dogs walked, meals prepped), I met up with one of my best friends to tackle Runyon yet again. Though I wasn't anticipating it being a breeze all of a sudden, I secretly wished it would be. The last time I hiked with her I was in far better shape. Plus, she's an aspiring pro golfer, who could probably run Runyon up and down twice before I slow trekked my way to the top. Regardless of my trepidation, I was grateful for the company. Especially because it allowed me to take not just one but two puppy friends for the hike. 

The hike itself wasn't as bad as yesterday. I certainly wasn't sprinting uphill, but I took fewer breaks (though it took all my courage to ask her to pause for the first one). It was really our conversation that got my wheels spinning. She told me she wasn't really isn't LA right now and asked if I'd ever consider moving away. And I wasn't really sure how to answer. I used to be 100% certain that I'd move back to New York, that I'd NEVER want to be an LA person. But that changed many years ago when it became clear to me it was a necessity to stay in LA if I wanted to write for television. I'd have to pull a Lena Dunham and sell a hit show to a major network who wouldn't mind me setting up shop in NYC for me to ever realistically consider returning. But her question gave me pause regardless. 

Had my body image suffered because of regularly working with actors and actresses? Did I internally compare myself to the fashion forward models in my neighborhood who looked gorgeous first thing in the morning as they walked their dogs? And would that change in another city?

I recently received a message from a girl I went to college with but didn't know very well, who expressed similar self esteem and body dysmorphia issues to the ones I'd experienced. She moved away from LA, reached her lowest weight and still was unhappy with her body. 

And as I hiked today, taking in the wide array of fit bodies along the trail, I acknowledged that it doesn't matter where you live or who you're surrounded by. You will always compare yourself to others unfavorably if you don't know how to be happy in the body you have. I'm working on that, slowly but surely (even if my face doesn't look super happy, it's still a proud one!)

Let's keep doing this!

DAY 5: Food Log

DAY 5

I woke up determined to make today a better day, and I’m proud to say that I did. After a long successful day of watching more episodes of Daredevil on Netflix, meeting a friend for lunch, and wrangling three dogs (during hiatus my apartment has turned into a puppy hotel), I finally got ready for my hike at Runyon Canyon. 

Though my dog, Rory, used to be able to do this hike with me, with my weight gain I’ve noticed she’s progressively gotten lazier. She now huffs and puffs up Runyon and refuses to walk without tummy rub breaks after every hill. Since I was feeling more determined than every to nail my hike, I decided to bring Milly with me, one of the spryer dogs in our care. Geared with my heart rate monitor, water bottle, and cellphone, and Milly with her harness and leash, I felt ready to conquer my hike.

I should admit that Runyon is considered an extremely easy hike by most in LA. In fact, the place is crowded on Saturday and Sunday mornings with hungover hipsters who are looking more to socialize than exercise. However, I’m able to add an extra two miles to this hike by walking from my apartment. Five miles, door to door. My boyfriend and I joke that this means there’s a hike to get to the hike, and I nearly killed my mom making her walk with me last year. But Milly was jazzed, and I was jazzed, and we were going to do this.

It started off okay. The hike to the hike was broken up by crosswalks and Milly’s multiple potty breaks, as well as a few seconds to pause and take pictures of the motivational art that leads the sidewalks up to Runyon. 

But once we passed through the gates of the park, I realized how incredibly out of breath I was already. I wiped my brow, which was dripping with sweat, and I cringed as I watched the picture perfect girls walk by me as I paused with Milly on some grass, pretending like she needed to pee again (but really just in desperate need of a breather). I contemplated turning around. This was so much harder than I remembered. I used to be able to do this walk with no breaks, but here I was, not even at the start of the hike and I’d already felt the need to sit down.

I resisted, though, and instead turned my iTunes radio to the 90s Pop station, put my ear buds in, and continued trekking. Fueled by the synth beats of NSYNC, Savage Garden, Ace of Base, etc…I began my climb. The first thing I needed to accept during my hike was that it was okay to take breaks. As I looked down at my heart rate monitor and looked at the number rise from the 170s to the 180s to the 190s to finally crossing 200, I resigned myself to the fact that resting was necessary. I couldn’t let my heart beat that fast for too long, not if I didn’t want to go past my maximum heart rate (I’m not sure what danger there is in going past that besides working my heart too hard, but I figured I should be cautious regardless). But it was actually okay. Resting for a minute gave me an opportunity to really appreciate my surroundings, let Milly say hi to a passing dog, and center myself. 

Though the hike was long and hard (while I used to be able to make the hike in 40 minutes, it took me nearly an hour to get to the top). But the view was entirely worth it. Because of my slow pace, I had unintentionally arrived at the top about ten minutes before sun set. I sat on a rock and drank the rest of my water bottle and smiled. For the first time in a very long time, I took a picture of myself smiling. It was a good feeling. Drenched in sweat and hugging a dog who I’d have to return to her owners in another day, I let my grin take over. There’s something really amazing about working up a sweat outside. Something innately freeing and calming. Maybe that’s just me, but when the view is this beautiful, it feels like an amazing reward for my hard work.

Milly and I took the steep way down in an effort to keep my heart rate up and get home faster (since the sun was setting and the sweat soaking through my clothes and skin was starting to make me a bit chilly). This was the result. And I’m proud. 

Three work outs done this week. One more to go. And I think I’m going to kick butt at that one, too. For more updates and pictures, I'm always posting to instagram and Twitter as charincharge. I have loved every interaction I've had with you guys and I can't believe the amount of support I've received. As always, let’s keep doing this. 

DAY 4

I once told my big sister that I wasn’t sure if I was a morning person or night person. I certainly wasn’t an early bird, but I couldn’t classify myself as a night owl either (this was many many moons before my insomnia kicked in). She replied, “Charlotte, you’re a sleep person.” And it’s true. I’ve always been big into sleeping. I was definitely one of those kids who always slept through the night, and when I got to college, I made sure none of my classes started before 11AM, to ensure that I’d actually go to them. 

However, with my weight gain, my fatigue has become out of control. I’m exhausted more often than not. Waking up each morning is a huge debacle, and during the work day I tend to crash mid-afternoon. There was one weekend where I felt so sick that I slept for nearly three days straight - 63 hours in slumber. That’s only 9 hours awake in three days (for those of you bad at math, like myself). I scrounged WebMD after that, trying to figure out what was wrong with me. Cancer? Heart disease? Liver failure? And then I stumbled upon it…obesity. This was the reason for my endless need to sleep. But despite my desire to fix it, exercise was the last thing I wanted to do when I was feeling tired.

After dropping my boyfriend’s mother off at the airport on Friday afternoon, I promised myself that I’d go for a hike. I’d already taken two days off for my road trip, so I knew I needed to get back into it ASAP. But as soon as I stretched out on the couch, I didn’t think I could get back up again. I explained my discomfort to my mother, and to my shock, she was completely unsurprised. “Well, you have 100 pound to lose, Charlotte,” she said (as if I were unaware, haha). “Can you even lift 100 pounds?” (Nope.) “I’m not surprised you’re exhausted from carrying around that much weight every day for months.” And then as she left me speechless, she turned into the worrying Jewish mother she is and asked how my knees were doing (which reminds me, I thoroughly regret mentioning my knee pain in my original blog post - I swear they’re fine, mom). But to be fair, her point is completely valid. I have a hard time lifting the 45 lb bar in the squat rack, and that’s less than half the amount I’ve put on my form. 

I’m not going to lie. I probably should have gone hiking. I had made a plan, a promise to myself, and then I broke it. That’s something I’m going to try my very hardest not to do in the future. When I make a plan to work out, it’s just like any other date and I shouldn’t cancel. I know I might not always be able to follow through, but that's a challenge I'm posing to myself. I've decided to make a calendar with specific workout days, and those appointments are unbreakable. We'll see how that goes.

As always, let's keep doing this.

DAY 4: Food Log

Stay Tuned...

Entry is going up late tonight because I can't bring myself to wake this puppy. And I can't bring myself to write an entire post on my phone either. But I have lots to say about today and yesterday and it will be done! 

DAY 3: Food Log

DAY 2: Food Log

DAY 2 & 3: SANTA CRUZ

Of course one day after starting my new health mission, I went on a road trip up to Santa Cruz with my little sister. A six hour road trip, to be exact. Six whole hours of sitting on my butt and thinking about all the exercise I was not doing. But I reminded myself, my first mission in this journey was trying to eat better and having a healthier relationship with food, and I shouldn’t panic, when I have time to exercise two times again after returning back to LA. 

So, to prepare for our trip, I bought two prepared Trader Joe’s salads (one for lunch on the ride up, one for the way back down), an apple, a banana, and a bunch of raw almonds for snacking purposes. I felt ready. And to be fair, the trip up was pretty successful. I had no desire to eat crappy food and no berating thoughts. But as soon as we arrived in Santa Cruz, I was tested for the first time. 

Dinner! I had forgotten about dinner. We needed to pick a place in town to go out, and I was feeling nervous. My head reeled with a roller coaster of thoughts. Should I go somewhere I wouldn’t be tempted to eat unhealthy food? Was I allowed to treat myself? I was on vacation, after all. Those calories didn’t count, right? Or should we go somewhere with terrible food where I’d eat very little and not have to worry about temptation. What about counting calories? How could I track my macros out at a restaurant?!

It took S (the little sis) and I about…an hour and a half…of walking around Santa Cruz to finally concede to going to the most popular place in town—a quaint Italian bistro by the water with only 12 tables and a small but specific menu. I hadn’t anticipated eating out so soon, for some reason. I thought I’d be able to control my intake and feel confident in my food choices for at least the first week. But here I was, day 2, and feeling frayed already. 

The restaurant put out a plate of bread, olive oil, garlic, and balsamic vinegar. S reached for the bread immediately, and I sighed internally. I warred with myself. Could I have a piece of bread? What about the oil? Bread without oil? But ultimately, I denied myself, convincing myself I had to save my calories for a delicious dinner. As I looked over the carb and fat heavy Italian menu, I grimaced again. Could I just ask for a piece of grilled chicken with steamed vegetables? But as S commented that the truffle gnocchi in a tomato cream sauce looked like what she was going to get, I reassessed. What could I eat that was high in protein and veggies but I would still WANT to eat. That I wouldn’t beg her for a taste of pasta and then feel extensive guilt after? I ultimately decided on a NYC strip steak with mushrooms and spinach in a garlic white wine sauce. I contemplated asking for it without the sauce, wondering how much butter or oil they used in the cooking process, but decided against it. I would enjoy my steak just as much as S enjoyed her truffle pasta. (steak pictured below)

And I did. I’m not going to lie. It was delicious. I even allowed my self a glass of rose wine with it (followed by club soda with lemon). But I couldn’t help but feel guilty that night as I plugged my food into my calculator. I hadn’t gone over my allotted calories for the day, but my fat content was too high, and my macros were all off. I was up for the better part of the night wrestling with my decision to eat that one freaking steak. And that sucked.

Today has been better. I had a latte for breakfast (thanks, S for bringing it to me in bed!) and picked some Meyer lemons off the tree our hosts had in their front yard. Excited and ready to continue, I had my second salad in the car as we headed back to LA. Though I still felt a twinge of jealousy as we stopped at Subway for S to get a sandwich (I swear, I could smell the mayo with such clarity I was impressed with myself), I was able to remind myself that I was satisfied with my food intake. My Trader Joe’s salad was just as delicious with its ripe currants, pesto vinaigrettte and light smattering of asiago cheese! Halfway back, we stopped in Solvang, which I thought would present itself with a whole barrage of emotional complications - the abundance pastries, chocolates, and sausages around every corner - but I was able to feel completely fine treating myself with a microbrew Danish red ale and heading back onto the road. It was so enjoyable, drinking peaceful in the company of my sister, the beautiful scenery, and the incredible weather, it didn’t even phase me that nearly everyone around me was consuming something I “wasn’t allowed” to have anymore. 

As I sit in the passenger seat thinking about the past two days, I realize I have much more to deal with than I initially prepared myself for. My mind is a bit of a muddled place when it comes to my health, and I am still figuring out how to work things through one step at a time. This journey is just beginning, and I guess I somehow thought that putting myself out there would magically change the way I see myself. Sadly, it hasn’t. I still look in the mirror and see that stranger looking back at me, but I have been overwhelmed by the amount of support I’ve received from all of you. Truly, I feel so incredibly blessed to have such a support system at my ready that I didn’t even know existed. The messages and encouragement have humbled me and ignited me in my pursuits. I have nothing but extreme thanks for everyone who has gotten in touch with me and provided me with positivity as I embark on this challenging path. I am more grateful than I can ever really express. 

One day at a time, though, right? Let’s keep doing this. 

DAY 1: Food Log

Food Diary started logging on MyFitnessPal. It's incredibly helpful to look at everything I'm eating and the caloric intake at the end of the day. It also has a feature where it breaks down the amount of macros I should be eating and how many I have left for the day. Pretty cool. All in all, day 1, you were okay. See you tomorrow, folks. 

DAY 1 Workout

Today's power hour at the gym was about reincorporating strength training into my routine. It was definitely a challenge to get through, and I had to rest for about a minute between sets. But I still feel really good about it. I can only improve from here, right?

Warm up. 10 mins on the treadmill. 3.5 mph at elevation 1.0. I did a minute of jogging (minutes 3-4) at 5 mph in an attempt to incorporate HIIT running, but I think I'm not quite there yet. 

Leg Press. 3 x 12 at 70 lbs. 

Smith Machine Squats. 1 x 12 no weights on the bar (to get proper form down). 2 x 12 with 20 lbs added. 

Smith Machine Push Ups. 3 x 10. Used the bar to push against. 

Adductor. 3 x 12 at 35 lbs. 

Abductor. 3 x 12 at 40 lbs. 

Dumbbell Deadlifts. 1 x 12 with 20 lb weights. 1 x 12 with 10 lb weights. 

Cool down. 17 minutes (random number, I know, I was just waiting for John to finish his workout) random hill setting on the stationary bicycle. Level 4. 

Total calories burned:

 

Feeling a bit like jelly, and wiped out, but also feeling really good. 

DAY 1.

I can’t remember a time where I’ve ever been proud of my body. I realized this the other week when my mom came to visit and expressed her concern for my current weight. “Remember when you were dancing in high school? You had so much more respect for your body then. You looked so great, and you were so happy!” And while she said it with such pride and reverence, but I remember those times somewhat differently. I remember crying myself to sleep after realizing that one of my dance costumes was a crop top and jazz pants. And being too ashamed of my 16 year old body to show it on stage that winter. So, I made a change. I cut out all carbs (complex or otherwise), and forced myself to eat only lean proteins and veggies. I lost about 20 lbs before my dance show. Finally attaining the body I’d always wanted. I’m sure some of you are saying, “Wow! That’s great! What discipline!” But the truth is, I was miserable. Even when I reached my lowest weight, I insisted on wearing a nude colored leotard under my crop top because I was uncomfortable with the curve to my stomach. Before our first show, one of our choreographers made us sugar cookies in the shape of dance shoes to celebrate our hard work. I watched on as all the other girls ate their cookies happily. But a wave of fear and guilt overtook me. How could those girls eat this cookie with such little thought? It scared me. If I had a bite, would I lose all my hard work? Would I seem undisciplined? It took me about fifteen minutes to give in to taking one minuscule bite, and then I gave the rest away to a friend, completely miserable and ashamed.

This unhealthy relationship with food has continued for the last 11 years. The last two of which have resulted in an 100 lb weight gain. Yes. 100 lbs. I went from my lowest weight to my very highest - the last 50 of which have been put on in the past 6 months. When I gained the first half, I attributed it to being depressed. I was single, frustrated with my job, and had just passed the five year anniversary of being raped. I felt hopeless, and I turned to food as a coping mechanism. I remember the day I looked at the scale and realized I’d passed 200 lbs. I cried. None of my clothes fit anymore. It was torture to get dressed for the day, and I hated looking at my body. My incredible little sister managed to take me to Lane Bryant and help me buy a wardrobe that would fit my new figure. “It’s temporary,” she said, “But you still have to look good while you’re losing weight.” I tried on jeans for the first time in a year, and she burst into tears. “You…just…look…so…good,” she squeaked out between tears. I nearly started crying, too. How could I have let myself get to place where putting on jeans over leggings made my baby sister cry? I vowed to myself to keep making positive changes. I wore my jeans to work, and kept working out. I used my tax refund to pay for a personal trainer, and I was finally on my way to getting below 200 lbs.

So, what happened? How did I go from making that turn, realizing I was on the path to destruction, making positive changes, to ending up where I am now? The truth is, I gave up. Unable to maintain my training sessions after my tax money was used up, I tried to rely on myself to continue forward, but I didn’t. I “cheated” on one meal, and then continued cheating. I drank too much. I ordered too much take out. One bad week turned into one bad month, and so on and so on. I convinced myself it was unhealthy to feel guilty for eating the things I wanted to be eating, and suddenly every day became a “treat yo’self” day. My life had turned into a diet I was constantly breaking, and I had no motivation to change it.

But that really changed after the new year. I stepped on the scale for the first time in 6 months and realized I was 50 lbs heavier. I knew my plus size clothing had gotten a bit more snug, that getting dressed in the morning was a challenge once again, but I never imagined another 50 lb gain. I took notice of new stretch marks on my stomach and up my back. I didn’t recognize myself. I felt like Monica in the FRIENDS flashbacks where she wears the fat suit. Only, I couldn’t take mine off. It was a part of me. In the past three months I have a cried a LOT. I’ve tried to start my fitness routine multiple times, only to ruin it with junk food. My physical limitations are vast. My knees hurt all the time. I can barely walk up the stairs to my apartment without breaking a sweat. The movie theater seats don’t fit my hips anymore. Even sitting down for a prolonged amount of time is uncomfortable - my weight has made it hard for me to breathe deeply unless I’m lying down. My father was 400 lbs at his heaviest weight. I remember being so embarrassed of him, not wanting him to come to my shows because I was afraid he was going to break the seats in our school theater. And I can’t help but feel like I’m approaching that for myself. Below is a picture of my back as of yesterday. I asked my boyfriend to take a picture of my back because I didn't think I could handle seeing myself from the front. His reply? "I don't think you're going to like the back either." And it's true I hate it. I truly do. 

And I just can’t do it anymore. I don’t want to be ashamed of my body. I don’t want to flake out on my friends because I don’t have anything in my closet to wear. I don’t want to make my little sister cry because she’s worried about my weight ever again. So, today starts a new journey. I’m sure it will have its ups and downs, but I’m putting myself out there. Making my journey entirely transparent so the whole world (or whoever might stumble upon this blog) will be able to hold my accountable. 

I’m going to be posting my food intake, macro breakdowns, my exercise summaries, as well as progress photos here. It’s not going to be pretty. I know I will feel like giving up at times, but I’m finally doing this for myself. I am first going to work on my relationship with food. I can’t feel guilty about the things I eat anymore, but I also want to be healthy. That’s why, I have no goal weight. All I want to do is work on being happy and healthy. Feel free to comment and leave encouragement and positivity. I know I will be needing all the support I can get in the coming months. Let's do this, okay?