DAYS 36-38

After Monday's affirmations, I expected the week to get magically better. The problem was, my mindset had been compromised for the first time since starting my journey, and it took a full three days to try and work my way out of it.

Sometimes a week just doesn't go well. And I guess this is where I complain about it.

Tuesday I was supposed to hike in the morning with Caiti again, but I couldn't pull myself out of bed. I was waylaid by intense stomach cramps (but weirdly no period), which luckily dissipated later in the afternoon. Fortunately, I was still able to force myself to get out of the house and go on a hike, but it was with great effort. After coming back from my hike I realized, to my dismay, that I had one dinner left of my pre-cooked meals, and I desperately needed to go grocery shopping. I knew I'd have to go to the grocery, but I was too tired to deal with a trip that night. I'd go in the morning.

Yesterday, I woke up and again didn't want to work out. I stole a piece of toast and two eggs from John before I resigned myself to figure out my finances and go to the grocery store as soon as possible. The problem is that even with a mapped out meal plan, eating healthfully is fairly expensive. There's a reason obesity is such a problem, and it's because healthy food is expensive. My sister has helped me figure out less expensive alternatives (cooking meals that last for 4 days, swapping fresh veggies for frozen ones, etc), but still...one week on my meal plan is about $100.

Compare that to this video of this guy who ate everything on the Whitecastle menu. For a whole $60.

The video came up on my Facebook feed, and even though I couldn't bring myself to watch the entire video, I did happen to skip to the ending. His tally. $60 for about 10k calories. That's enough junk food to feed one person for a full week, based on intake. Nearly half of what I'm spending. 

Not only is the price insanely low, but fast food advertisements are everywhere. In fact, even my iTunes radio (my soundtrack for the gym) has now been invaded by commercials for Rold Gold Pretzels and Famous Amos Cookies. I turn on my TV and am assaulted by advertisements for cheap fast food, and I remember how easy it was to pick that crap up. It's much harder to plan and shop and cook. And though I'm no longer tempted, I am annoyed. Annoyed that I can't go anywhere without this junk being put in my face. Whether it's billboards along the street as I walk to my hike, or catching up on the latest episode of The Bachelorette, or passing numerous chains as I drive to the gym, cheap fast food is far more prevalent than nutritious food - and I live in LA around the corner from two farmers markets!

Needless to say, I'm SO happy that I'm eating healthfully. I was actually gleeful as I unloaded my haul of groceries yesterday. I smiled as lean proteins and veggies and whole grains spread across my counter. But it was a frustrating point of my day. 

Yesterday continued to frustrate when I looked down at my heart rate monitor during my workout and realized that it had died. Though I know I can easily replace the battery, I have become somewhat reliant on my HRM, and I was incredibly disappointed when I couldn't enter my calories burned into my fitness app. Estimating or not counting them at all felt way less satisfying.

Last night I went to bed disappointed and frustrated, but I resolved myself to wake up this morning and push forward. Who cared that things were annoying me this week? People get annoyed all the time! It was at that moment that I looked at my calendar and realized my period was 10 days late, despite the cramping I was feeling. And that might have something to do with my intense irritability. I pushed the thought aside until I met up for real with Caiti this morning for my Thursday hike. I confided in her that I was extremely nervous, that my body felt out of whack, and I was a little stressed.

Caiti, being an athlete herself, talked me down immediately. She assured me that with my massive burst in activity and decreased intake, there was a really good chance I'd changed my menstrual cycle, and there was no reason to freak out. I scoffed at the idea (even though my mom had said the same thing the day before). Wasn't losing your period a thing that athletes did because they were under a certain body fat percentage? At 250 lbs, I highly doubted I would be affected similarly. But, regardless, I felt better. Plus, we had a super cute dog with us.

Knowing internally (despite my lack of HRM) I'd burned 1k calories and filled with positive thoughts from Caiti, I headed back inside to make lunch for myself. Second lunch on the meal plan! Chicken Caesar salad with homemade greek yogurt based dressing. It came out amazing.

But as soon as I'd taken a few bites, I was attacked by cramps again. There was no questioning this feeling. I knew without a doubt I'd finally gotten my period. Thank god I'd been able to work out in the morning, because at the rate my cramps were coming, there was no way I'd have been able to move this afternoon. In fact, the whole day was spent in bed, cursing being a woman. Just kidding. Kind of. 

That said, it's clear that through this whole process I am having to learn my body all over again. My moods, my rhythm, my mindset have all changed so drastically in such a short amount of time, and I'm just beginning to figure out what feels best for me. I am becoming a different person, a more motivated and determined person, and even though that person is different than the one I was just a few months ago, I think I like this one even better. Yes, I had a bad week, but what are a few days of discomfort while I relearn myself compared to a lifetime of being comfortable in my own body? 

Let's keep doing this, people. 

DAYS 34 & 35

Warning: If you are triggered by mentions of sexual assault or rape, this entry is not for you.

Just over six years ago, I was raped.  On a day to day basis, it's not something I deal with anymore. And recently, my days have been more about which foods I have to prepare and what workout I've been able to complete, than anything else. In other words, my brain has been so busy thinking about other things and reprioritizing my day, that there hasn't been any time for much else to creep back in.

Last night, however, I was forced to deal with it. The final scene of Sunday's Game of Thrones showed a pretty graphic and unnecessary rape of one of the leading women. I knew it was coming, but I still wasn't really prepared. I focused on my phone instead of the TV, staring at the little game of Solitaire, and trying to block out sounds of aggressive grunting and pained screaming in the background. Luckily, I had two more shows to watch before heading to bed, but when it came time to turn off the light, my brain couldn't stop circling.

I woke up this morning feeling sluggish and easily annoyed. While last week, I'd been so excited for my Monday work out that I jumped out of bed and headed to the gym before my alarm even went off, today it took two hours of John's coaxing and an extra cup of coffee to get me there. I told myself to get over it. That I was fine, and to just do my workout the best that I could.

Apparently I took that direction to heart, because I don't think I've ever worked out as hard as I did this morning. I hopped on the elliptical for my warm up, turned on my angriest playlist and pushed myself as far as I could. And it didn't stop there. I attacked my leg circuit, pushing myself an extra two or three reps, until my muscles were shaking.

Four years ago, when I first started going to sexual assault therapist, she recommended that I exercise as part of my routine. The only gym I felt comfortable going to, however, was the 24 Hour Fitness in the middle of boystown West Hollywood. I worked out fearlessly there, knowing that the boys were more interested in checking each other out than me, and I could slip through my routine without anyone noticing I was even there. I'd avert my eyes if anyone tried to make eye contact with me and would happily give up a machine just so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone else in the gym. In other words, it was perfect.

Back at that same gym today, I was ferocious. I staked out a corner of the weight lifting room for my circuit, marking my space with my towel and water bottle and practically growling at anyone who came too close. Today, I was angry. Angry that even after six years, one fictional rape scene was enough to make me feel like my body was under attack. That even though I've worked at it and healed as much as I could, somewhere deep down I still believe my body is not allowed to take up space. That it's not my body. It's everyone's body.

My anger came to a head today when an approaching guy asked if I was still using the incline bench (even though there were two more in the near vicinity). "Yup!" I said, continuing with my workout (almost an hour strong!). Feeling slighted, he put up his hands and backed away with an, "Okay, Bambi." It took me a full 30 seconds to realize that I was wearing a shirt I'd bought at Disneyland many years ago that had Bambi on it, and another 30 seconds for my spirit to break. I felt betrayed by the gym that had kept me safe for so many years.

Tears mixed with sweat as I hopped back onto the elliptical to wind down for the day. I put on the pop station on my iTunes radio, trying to perk back up, but I couldn't . There was something so innately sexist and frustrating about the way I had been addressed. "Bambi." Really? I would never have approached a stranger and said anything like that. I just couldn't believe that even while being unafraid, in the zone, and doing exactly what everyone else was doing, this stranger felt the need to talk down to me. Maybe he thought he was being cute or clever. Maybe he does it to men as well as women. I don't know. But I do know that it made me feel small and belittled, despite leaving the gym with nearly 1000 calories burned.

After getting home and showering, I contemplated calling it a day. Just crawling into bed, deciding the world is too scary a place for me, and going back to sleep. But part of this journey is healing and taking control of my body. And so...I forced myself to put on makeup, real clothes, and shoes, and head out to a coffee shop to get some things done. 

I know no matter what society, experiences, or media tries to tell me, I can be the master of my own body. And that giving strength to my own voice is a positive thing, no matter who feels slighted as I do it. Because...as I say each time....I'm going to keep doing this.

DAYS 22 & 23

In forced rest and recovery for my cold, I have been through quite a bit. While yesterday started off as a day to treat myself with a relaxing morning of doing my hair and makeup and walking to the local nail salon for a fancy pedicure, it took a swift turn into foreboding as my mom asked me to accompany her on a shopping trip to the mall.

The original purpose of the trip was to find a birthday present for my big sister, but I knew that was only part of her mission. Though my mom thinks she's super subtle, the comments about taking more pride in my appearance and how worn out my current wardrobe looks did not go unnoticed, and I knew I'd be in for a bit of a shopping trip myself. Since gaining my weight I have not shopped. The clothes I'm wearing now are from 50 pounds ago, and I've been okay with that. I don't want to know what size I am. I'd rather go around knowing my clothes didn't quite fit than succumb to purchasing clothes in a bigger size. My clothes are the one vestige of my previous normal-sized life, and to acknowledge that they don't fit and I really truly can't wear them anymore is to truly admit that's not my life anymore. And I didn't think I was ready to give that up.

To make a long and boring shopping story short...I was right. I was not ready. Trying on jeans was pure torture. "Why don't we start with the biggest size?" my mom suggested. "That way, it can only get better." I knew she meant it as a joke, but my mind raced - what if I didn't fit into the biggest size of jeans? I held them in front of me. They looked like they took up my entire body. Luckily, a saleswoman must have seen the panic on my face and suggested another cut and size of the jeans. A decidedly bigger than my last size, but still not enough to make me want to throw up - size 18. I grabbed them, as well as a few larger tops, and settled down in the fitting room.

There is no worse place in the world to a fat kid than the dressing room. The harsh lighting, the 360 mirrors, and clothes. Ugh. I disrobed quickly, trying not to notice the stretch marks marring my body, and shimmied into the pair of jeans. They were snug, but they zipped up, so I said they were fine. But about three shirts in (each one of which got an, "Oh my god you look amazing!" from my mom), I thought I was going to pass out. The jeans were too tight around my stomach. Oh god. I'd have to go up to a size 20.

20. The number rolled around in my head. I'd just watched Amy Schumer's bit on the Ellen Show about how at a size 6 she felt obscenely overweight walking through LA. My size would be 8 sizes bigger than that. I broke into a cold sweat, and the fluorescent lights stung my eyes. "I need a bigger size. And we need to do this fast before I have a panic attack," I blurted out. My mom looked stunned, but quickly went to grab the bigger pair for me.

Alone in my underwear, I sank onto the cushioned bench in the dressing room, trying to hold back my tears. I did my panic attack breathing. In for five, hold for seven, exhale for eight. And again. I kept my eyes down, not willing to look at the rolls that had formed while sitting, afraid it would set me off again.

I managed to make it out of the store about three minutes after trying on the 20s. The pair felt extra heavy in my bag, and I was ready to head home.

Today, I was not ready to wear the jeans. Though they're in my possession, I'm not sure I ever will be. I'm glad Nordstrom has a great return policy because I honestly don't know if I will ever feel okay putting them on. I know a size means nothing. It's a totally arbitrary number, and I'm already well on my path to a different life - so why don't I just wear the fucking jeans, no matter what size they are? It's not like anyone besides the people who just read this post will even know? But it means something to me. I put on one of my new shirts in an attempt to feel okay, but I still felt like a blob in my outfit. I knew a lot of that was due to still being unable to workout, so I made myself a healthy breakfast and forced myself to let it go.

Breakfast: 1/2 cup steel cut oats, 1/2 cup skim milk,
2 tbs natural peanut butter, and 1/2 chopped pink lady apple

I was excited for my day. Though my mom and I had originally planned to go see a matinee on Broadway, I felt like if I had been in the audience and someone came in with a hacking cough they couldn't control, I'd try to cut a bitch. So, we regrouped. Something we loved to do when I was younger was pick a random location and go on an adventure--get lost and wander around. We picked a small coastal town in CT, Niantic, which was named one of the most charming towns. After a two hour drive, we were expecting a Stars Hollow-esque experience, but were thoroughly let down to find out there were about two restaurants, neither of which had anything but fried fish available, a book store, a coffee store, and a boutique. Disappointed, we continued to travel onwards and unintentionally upwards. And by the time we realized we were incredibly lost in bumblefuck CT, we were both uncomfortable, burgeoning on hungry, and had to pee badly.

Our pee break was taken care of immediately, but the other two had to wait a while. We searched and searched and searched for somewhere to stop for lunch, but the longer we wandered and couldn't find something, the closer to dinner time it became. My bra started to dig uncomfortably into my ribs, and I knew my cough was wearing on my mom. Between the two of us, we were grumpy and grumpier. Finally, we made it back to our home base and drove through towns we were more familiar with. We agreed on a seafood restaurant, since that's what my mom had been craving earlier, and sat down ravenous.

Now, if my sister had planned this vacation, we would have known exactly what restaurant we were eating at about a week ago, but she didn't, and I didn't. So, looking through the menu, starved and cranky and annoyed with my bra was not the best plan in the world. Steak au poivre, fish in a beurre blanc sauce, and mac and cheese all popped out at me. I hadn't eaten anything since noon, and this was just after six, I said to myself. I could have a more decadent dinner, right? But the pain in my ribs from my too tight bra reminded me otherwise. And instead I focused on what would be the most healthy dinner on the menu that I'd still enjoy. Roasted chicken with roasted seasonal veggies (as a substitution for mashed potatoes) was my best bet, and I felt like I was treating myself with a pretty large glass of Malbec.

Satiated and back in the car, I realized what a victory that was. It was small, but it was a positive decision that I made all by myself. And despite my negative mindset the past day, I'm still sticking to my goals. I know there will be more bad days to come, but I'm proud of myself for pulling myself out of this one. Because, as always, I'm going to keep doing this.