DAYS 79-93

Well, it's been another two weeks since I took pen to paper, and I have to admit...I'm embarrassed about it. The last time I checked in, I was convinced my wallowing was over, and I'd signed up for Class Pass and felt ready to tackle my goals.

Except, my brain and body didn't agree on that. After signing up for my first class, I was nervous but excited. I was going to try out a pilates class - something I had wanted to try for YEARS. Now was my time! But when it came time to actually go to the class, anxiety took over. I was short of breath with sharp chest pains, and an overwhelming sense of nausea set in. I tried to breathe through the panic. I used all my best tricks - counting down from 100, my slow belly breathing, and (my personal favorite) telling Rory what's happening. Nothing seemed to work. Even when I was able to catch my breath, the nausea intensified. I didn't know what to do. Thinking I wasn't up for pilates in the near future, I canceled my class and the panic IMMEDIATELY subsided. 

I spent the rest of the night sulking.

The next day, I had planned to go to a Spinning class with my friend who is obsessed with the studio I'd booked. She was jazzed, and I was too! Spin sounded like a ball. I already loved the stationary bike. But add a room with some motivational leaders and some fun music, it sounded right up my alley. Of course, an hour before the class, though, my dreaded panic set in again. Determined not to let my friend down, I made it to the studio. I asked the teacher to help me set up my bike (because apparently that's a huge ordeal), I put on my spin shoes and I was ready to go!

What I realized over the course of that class, though, is that I was NOT ready to go. Oh my god, was I out of my league or what. What I hadn't realized about spin is that there's not much sitting on your stationary bike, and my body just wasn't strong enough to hold myself up like that yet. My knees ached from standing, and when I took a few minutes to sit, the seat immediately dug into my butt (pretty sure I'm still bruised down there). There were times when the class felt so long that I didn't know if I was going to make it through. All the joints and muscles in my body revolted, despite everyone around me looking like they were having the time of their life. By the end of the hour, my body was drenched in sweat - literally every surface of my body was sweating (including the backs of my hands which I legitimately didn't know COULD sweat). And I felt defeated. I had been working out for nearly three months, and I felt like I had nothing to show for it. I was still REALLY out of shape.

I will say that in the hour following spin, my endorphins reached such an all time high that I thought the whole thing might be like giving childbirth, that I'd magically forget the torture of the class and only remember the resulting high. But...alas, I don't have spin amnesia, and I don't think I'll be ready to take another stab at it any time soon.

In fact, since the disaster of the spin class, I've been too intimidated and upset to try another class. And that really bums me out. I feel a little defeated, to be honest. Every time I try and make myself work out, I make a slew of excuses about what I could be doing instead. Which has resulted in a solid week and a half of me rewatching all of Gilmore Girls on Netflix and not much else. 

Ultimately, I'm giving myself a break. That doesn't mean I'm going to continue being a lump on my couch for whatever show comes after my Gilmore Girls rewatch, but it does mean I'm not going to shame myself for doing what I need to do. The next few weeks are going to be a time of immense change for me. I'm going to be leaving my first solo grownup apartment and move back into a roommate situation. I'm going to leave behind West Hollywood, which has been my neighborhood for the past six years. I'm going to sell or get rid of a lot of my stuff that I've accumulated and start fresh. And I'm going to hopefully find a part time job I can stay with for the foreseeable future to supplement my writers' assistant income and be able to not stress about paying my bills. I mean, that's a LOT of stuff to do. For anyone, much less someone who's going through their first real breakup. 

But, holding myself accountable and recognizing my feelings is the first step to getting back on track. I figure that if I keep telling myself I'm going to do this that I'll be able to Secret it into existence (that's how that works, right?). Since acknowledging my lack of interest in exercising right now, I've started taking long walks. Just around the block, nothing high impact. But something to get me out of my apartment and on my feet. I'm hoping that I'll be able to push myself back into a regular exercise routine sooner rather than later, but I'm not beating myself up about it either. Mostly because I know I'm not giving up.

A few months ago, if I'd encountered something like this, I would have been off exercise for the long haul, completely uninterested in maintaining my healthy eating, but I know I have to do this. So....that's what I'm going to do. 

DAY 53: SAN FRANCISCO

What is it about being in a new place that just makes you want to try every restaurant you pass by? I know that some of it has to be the fear of missing out on something you may not try again, but it almost feels like a compulsion, a need to try new foods.

Yesterday was a lot about food. And since it was a lot about food, we decided to also make it a lot about exercise. Walking, to be specific. We set our sights on two different parks to enjoy, with restaurants in between. We started off at a local cafe so V could finish her work in the morning. I enjoyed scrambled eggs (with yolks!) and a bowl of fruit. Sadly, the toast got kicked to the curb, which was totally fine.

Energized and work finished, we headed to our first destination - Golden Gate Park, which is over a thousand acres of sprawling wildlife, gardens, and museums (to put it in perspective it's about 20% larger than Central Park). We went with no real plan, other than to stop at a local Burmese restaurant for lunch on the north side of the park. V had been told we HAD to have it, so we made it a priority. The park was gorgeous.

As we walked, V asked me about my fitness journey so far. We talked quite a bit, but I was stuck on one of her questions as we continued on: How long was I going to keep blogging? I thought about it. I wasn't really sure. A year? Until I hit my goal weight? She pointed out that I didn't have a goal weight, and I laughed. She was right, yes. No true goal weight had been set. But I went into this having gained 100 lbs, and I think somewhere in the back of my mind that's where I imagined myself going. Did I think I was actually going to lose 100 lbs? I honestly didn't know. I could lose 70 lbs and decide that I'm fine. With the muscle I'm building from all my weight training, the actual composition of my body is changing so drastically, I'm not sure what it'll look like or feel like when those extra fatty pounds are gone. I admitted that I felt I'd just know when it was time to stop. She agreed.

Somewhere in our rambling, V decided that we should walk to the beach on the far side of the park. She had come all the way from NYC and wanted to dip her toe into the Pacific! I figured why not? Except half way there we realized it was about a seven mile walk through the park to the beach. But, we were already committed, and so we did it. 

Our impromptu beach visit had delayed us a little bit, though, and by the time we headed back towards the restaurant, it was already 4:30. The restaurant opened at 5, so we hung out in the car and listened to some music before preparing ourselves for the life changing Tea Leaf Salad we'd been recommended. I wish I had a picture of it because it was so beautiful, but we were so hungry by the time we sat down to eat that I totally forgot about it. It was delicious though. An array of textures came together for one perfect bite - peanuts, toasted garlic, sesame seeds, jalapeños, romaine, tomatoes, and topped with fermented tea leaves. It sounds crazy, but it was definitely worth the stop. We also decided to get some Burmese style vegetable curry and some coconut chicken noodles. We were in and out of there in about 40 minutes, and we were both totally stuffed.

After, we contemplated heading home and getting ready for our evening (even though we didn't know what that would entail), but we had made plans to go see the redwoods at Muir Woods, and we wanted to follow through. I'm incredibly grateful that we did. It was as if we were able to wander around an enchanted forrest, filled with magical beings lurking in the hollows of the gigantic trees.

I never wanted to leave. But sadly I'd forgotten my sweater at home, and my arms were starting to freeze off. We headed back home, enjoying driving through the thick fog. It added to our magical day.

By the time we got home, though, we were WIPED. I mean...we'd walked a bajillion miles and had started our day pretty damn early. So, instead of making a big deal about dinner (plus, it was like 9:30 anyway), we grabbed some tacos as a local recommended taqueria (we're staying in the Mission, and that is THE thing). 

At the end of the night, I was curious to see how many steps we'd actually walked and was not shocked to see a giant number staring back at me.

I'm so glad I've been able to utilize the city for my fitness needs. Regardless of not stepping into a gym since Wednesday, I don't feel like I've compromised any of my goals. I've been able to enjoy the food I want to try without indulging too much, plus I've maintained my activity level throughout. Halfway through my SF trip, and I think I can already say it's been a success. Being in LA, I don't have the opportunity to walk around this much, so I'm excited for two more days in SF. Come on, y'all. Let's keep doing this.

DAY 52: SAN FRANCISCO BOUND

A few months ago, my best friend and I realized we hadn't seen each other in a year and a half - at our friend's wedding, for one night. These are the hazards of moving across the country, I guess. Our friendships, even the one we hold dearest, start to become just a few texts and calls and likes on Instagram photos. So, when she told me she was going to be up in San Francisco for business for a few days in June, I told her I'd be there. At the time, I had no idea where my life was headed. I had no clue the new trajectory my whole being would be struggling with, and it didn't really hit me until I left yesterday that this trip probably wasn't what either of us had originally pictured. That didn't mean that we weren't going to enjoy every second, though.

Me and V reunited. Second time in two months!

After learning how to road trip pretty early on in this journey (what was Santa Cruz...Day 2?), I prepared myself for the six hour drive up north with plenty of healthy snacks (apples, strawberries, almonds), grabbed my favorite Starbucks treat (Skinny Hazelnut Latte and an egg white spinach wrap) and hit the road. 

It was the first time I've been alone with my thoughts for that long since starting this journey, and it was a little more intense than I originally anticipated. When I get too emotional or things get hard, I reach for a security blanket. I think we all have them - whether it's a good book, a bottle of wine, a casual fling, etc. For me it's music. Those who met me after college might not even know how important music is to me, to my healing process. But my life dream used to be a different kind of writer - of the singer/songwriter variety. 

At age 11, my dad took me to a recording studio to lay down one of my songs (a lullaby I'd written for my baby cousins). Growing up in a music industry family, I was discouraged from pursuing a career in music from day 1. After recording my song, the sound technician told me how impressed he was with me. He couldn't believe I was only 11. He asked if I had other songs, and I showed him a notebook filled with lyrics. He asked if I wanted to record anything else, but my dad shut it down immediately. In the car ride back to our hotel, I was riding high - I mean, what I'd done was pretty freaking cool, for someone of any age, much less 11. I asked my dad if we could listen to the CD in the car, and he obliged. I was SO proud of myself. That was MY SONG. And as it played through the car speakers I could almost believe I was listening to myself on the radio. My high crashed quickly after my dad chimed in. "It's great, Charlotte. You have a really pretty voice. But...in order to make it in the industry you have to have a pretty face AND a pretty voice." I was devastated, but internally I agreed with him. Britney Spears had just released her first album (at 17), and I certainly didn't look like her. It was the age of the pretty blonde pop star, and I couldn't shoehorn myself into that category as much as I wanted to. At 11, I absorbed this information and took it as the truth because I had to. Not to mention it was compounded by another decade of my dad telling me - "You'd be so pretty if you just lost a little weight." 

And though I cut my dad out of my life two years ago, sometimes his voice creeps into my head. On Monday, the day that I "felt pretty," I heard his voice questioning me. And it only got louder during the six hour drive up to San Francisco. So, I put in my latest obsession (Ed Sheeran's X) and drowned out the thoughts with his music. I listened to the album five times, listening to his lyrics and chord progressions, and became profoundly more moved each time around. This was what I missed. This was the kind of music I wanted to write. About being a sap and a nerd and being confused and hurt and in love. I made a resolution: 50 lbs into this thing, I want to get a keyboard and start writing again. Because as therapeutic as writing this quasi-diary has been, I think it'll be even more so to have a soundtrack that goes along with this journey.

By the time I arrived in San Francisco, I was feeling more motivated than I ever had, ready to tackle the next few days with my bestie by my side. After a quick rest (because, man, driving six hours is exhausting any way you cut it), we headed out to dinner to an Asian fusion restaurant. I'd already looked up the menu and knew there were a few salad options that sounded really good, and was not disappointed. Over dinner, we discussed our plan for the next few days. V had just come from Chicago where she'd gorged on not the healthiest foods, so she was game for some healthy days. My fortune agreed.

(or at all)

After finishing our food, we decided that we wanted to walk around the city, mostly to get more steps in (before leaving the airbnb I'd clocked less than 1k steps for the day). We headed to Delores Park and caught up on life. The view was pretty neat. And before we knew it, we were being kicked out of the park (apparently they close, who knew?)

By the time we got home, I'd clocked over 11k steps for the day. Which made me feel pretty good, seeing as I hadn't anticipated working out at all. That's definitely a huge plus to San Francisco, though. The walking. Mostly uphill. Exhausted, I promptly passed out, chord progressions starting to swirl through my head. 

Though the next few days aren't entirely planned out, I look forward to sharing whatever comes up. And making new goals. And writing new songs. Thank you for being part of this adventure. And as always, let's keep doing this.

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 20 & 21

As I approached the three week mark of my journey, I was filled with a sense of accomplishment. I went back into NYC to visit two of my best friends - neither of whom I'd seen in almost two years. 

As I brunched on egg whites and salad with bestie #1, I felt a twinge of congestion and a few sneezes squeak out. Ugh. Allergies. I'd been warned that this was going to be one of the worst allergy seasons ever - something to do with an overpopulation of male trees and a whole lot of pollen with nowhere to go but into my nose. I figured that rather than feeling like crap I should grab some Claritin D and really try to not to tucker out during the time I'd allotted for bestie #2.

Though I was still sniffly, I powered through, walking the floors of Bloomingdales like a champ. It was not until taking the subway to Brooklyn that I realized the congestion was getting worse, not better. I popped back some more Claritin, knowing I needed to rebound immediately. Bestie #2 had a ton of energy as she was training for a race and currently running upwards of 10 miles a day. And she wanted to meet at the Brooklyn Bridge Park where we'd be able to take a long walk. I couldn't Peter out now, allergies! Luckily, the walk through Brooklyn was beautiful, the absolute perfect weather. Plus, it was the time of day just before the sun began to set where everyone was walking their dogs. It made me miss Rory (my own) so terribly that I found myself saying drawn out "hiiii"s to several dogs as I passed them by. I was so into one particular dog that I didn't even notice one of them belonged to one of my favorite actors, Bryan Greenberg (my love for OTH will never die) and his girlfriend Jamie Chung, until I'd passed. It turned out to be okay, though, because as I came upon the park I was greeted with this beautiful view of lower Manhattan. No filter necessary. 

Before I even had time to process, I was being wrapped up into a warm hug, And my mood instantly lifted. As we walked down the path, she informed me all about her running progress and asked me about my journey into healthy living. Having once been packing a few extra pounds (though not quite where I'd let myself go), she offered her two cents. "I'm sure everyone has given you theirs already, she said, "But since I've really gone through it I just wanted to tell you my experience." I told her I wanted all the cents I could find, and she launched in. She told me she'd been keeping up with my blog and instagram and she worried my intake was too low. That when she did the same thing starting out she was inexplicably exhausted and not losing nearly as much as she thought she would. It was only when she added to her intake (healthfully, of course) did she start losing more and having way more energy. I told her I'd thought about the same thing, as most of the health and fitness gurus say the same thing. When you're exercising you need to feed the muscles you're building. More muscle = higher metabolism = more fat burning even while not working out. That contrary to logical thought, eating less while still maintaining my exercise routine would signal to my body to store more of my intake for fear of not getting enough fuel for my workouts. I explained to her my anxiety about raising my calorie limit. That my problems with binge eating were so pervasive I worried about opening that door too quickly. She understood, but then she started crying. (Side note: Can I say a blanket apology to everyone I've made cry? I'm horrified that my behavior has affected so many people. I don't plan on this happening ever again.) 

Anyway, she cried. She said how upset she was about learning my previous weight loss hadn't been earned through healthy means. That she was upset with herself for not seeing through my lies. But I promised her I'd never do that again. It was miserable to feel that kind of guilt associated with food, and it's what led to my cycle of binge eating. She hugged me and we took this picture to commemorate my promise. 

After our emotional conversation, we were in dire need of sustenance. We easily found a healthy restaurant a few blocks away (seriously if you're ever in Brooklyn and want delicious healthy foodNature's Grill is all organic with gluten free, vegan and vegetarian options). I left her for the night feeling energized and loved and ready to conquer the 4th week of my journey! But by the time I was finally sitting on the train back to CT (nearly 12 hours and 16k steps later), I realized my "allergies" weren't any better. In fact, they were about 100 times worse, and were actually a cold. 

I woke the next day completely incapacitated by my sickness. Fever, congestion, soreness and a hacking cough took over my body. I could barely move off the couch and eating was not high up on the list of thigs I wanted to do. Somewhere between my naps and nose blowing, I started to feel a panic rise up in me. 

This wasn't a part of my schedule! I was supposed to spend the morning in the gym doing upper body weight training and my intake was totally off. By 5pm I'd only consumed 350 calories and walked 40 steps. The mean voice in my head returned, telling me I needed to get off the couch, that I was a lazy sod. So when my mom said she was going to go for a walk down by the water I immediately jumped at the chance to join her. 

I pushed through a two mile walk, insisting I was fine and even encouraging us to do more for fear of having an unintentional rest day. Though I could see the worry on my mom's face, I ignored it. Until we got back inside and I was wracked with chills and sweats. After a long shower and hearty dinner of chicken, veggies and brown rice, I reminded myself that I would only prolong my sickness if I continued to push myself like that. That my anxiety can't be what rules my life. I need to take control and tell her to step off, that a rest day is necessary when I'm this sick. And being healthy includes self care and rest. 

Today I'm giving myself the rest day I need and trying not to feel bad about it. I'm taking care of my brain as well as my body by putting on makeup and doing my hair and getting a desperately needed pedicure. I keep reminding myself that two rest days in a row while my body heals is necessary and I can't feel guilty about that. That pushing myself to do anymore will hinder my heath, not help it. Because I have a long ways to go. As always, let's keep doing this. 

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.

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 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?